LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship
by High Plains Drifter
Summary: Frodo and his friends are trapped by the Barrow Wight. When Frodo sings for Tom Bombadil's help, Tom's a little busy, but he does take a moment to reach across Worlds to snare some aid for the desperate hobbit. Jean and Storm take Rogue and Kitty on a recruiting trip to gain another student for the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Things don't exactly turn out as planned.
1. Chapter 1 - An Unexpected Journey

LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 1 – An Unexpected Journey

When he came to himself again, for a moment he could recall nothing except a sense of dread. Then suddenly he knew that he was imprisoned, caught hopelessly, he was in a barrow. As he lay there, thinking and getting a hold of himself, he noticed all at once that the darkness was slowly giving way; a pale greenish light was growing round him. He turned, and there in the cold glow he saw lying beside him Sam, Pippin, and Merry.

Suddenly a song began: a cold murmur, rising and falling. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes like a low moan from the ground. Frodo was chilled to the marrow. After a while the song became clearer, and with dread in his heart he perceived that it had changed into an incantation.

All at once back into his mind, from which it had disappeared with the first coming of the fog, came the memory of the house down under the Hill, and of Tom singing. He remembered the rhyme that Tom had taught them. In a small desperate voice he began: _Ho! Tom Bombadil! _and with that name his voice seemed to grow strong: it had a full and lively sound, and the dark chamber echoed as if to drum and trumpet. "Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo," Frodo began to sing. "By water, wood and hill, by the …"

* * *

"Cerebro certainly sent us to the middle of nowhere."

"Kansas is not the middle of nowhere Rogue."

"Well you grew up on the savannahs of Africa. Pretty much the same things as here Storm. So you are clearly prejudiced. What do you think Kitty."

"I'm on my first recruiting mission, I'm not saying anything that will make Jean or Storm think twice about asking me again."

"Coward!"

"I'd say 'tactically smart' Rogue. Now everybody tidy up, I think this is the driveway to the Trask family farm. And best behavior young ladies."

"Yes Jean." "Yes Jean."

Two minutes later the rental car pulled to a stop in front of a large farm house flanked by two silos on the left and two silos on the right. Two female adults and two female adolescents from the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters stepped out, proceeded up the walk and rang the doorbell.

"Getting anything Jean?"

"Not really. A teenage girl, our candidate. One man, a bit anxious, a good job repressing it. Pretty normal if the daughter you've raised and love has started demonstrating unexplainable, mutant powers over the last couple of weeks. Why? Something about this bothering you?"

"I don't know ... feels off somehow. Well, let's get to it."

The front door of the farm house opened to reveal a familiar looking middle aged man in an expensive suit looking at them through the glass of the storm door.

"Hello Mr. Trask, I'm Dr. Grey of the Xavier … wait. Excuse me. Aren't you industrialist Bolivar Trask?"

"Yes, yes I am. And you are mutants. Dead mutants." The man pressed something in his hand and the four silos on the property exploded to reveal the four sentinels hidden inside.

"Escape plan Bravo," yelled Storm as Jean raised a telekinetic umbrella to protect them from the flying shrapnel of the silos.

* * *

Goldberry was in the middle of a delightful two hour long song when Tom felt the vibrations of Frodo's song through the quantum aether. The innocence, love of life, and appreciation for Goldberry displayed by his hobbit visitors had deeply touched Tom during their brief stay. When he'd given poor, doomed Frodo his audio key he fully intended to honor any trivial request for aid. But how could he leave Goldberry in the middle of this sublime recitation? It would be a crime against beauty.

Tom quickly hummed a tune on a low hertz based harmonic pitched to a higher range energy plane. The oscillations of Tom's quantum level fishing trip were lower than Goldberry's perception point. Her song continued uninterrupted. To return to full concentration on beauty, Tom satisfied himself with the first likely encounter in the flux, and altered the tune appropriately to create a one way micro-facture between realities. Tom smiled, then all thoughts of hobbits emptied from the Bombadil consciousness.

* * *

"Kitty, don't touch me! You're making me phase into the ground."

"I'm not touching you Rogue. I'm way over here."

Rogue stared at her arm, and saw a spectrum of light swirling through it. "Storm!?" Rogue yelled very nervously.

"Not now child, occupied." And another lightning bolt erupted from the heavens on to a sentinel.

"But I'm … I mean, we're all ... evaporating!" She yelled.

* * *

After a long slow moment he heard a high pitched shriek, but far away, as if it was coming down through the ground or through the thick walls. Then a voice: _Storm!_ There was a loud rumbling sound, as of stones rolling and falling, and suddenly light streamed in arcing throughout the chamber like a lightning bolt. Then disappearing, all returned to black, but quickly followed by voices.

"What the hell? Did they trap us in something?"

"I'll hyper excite some air molecules. That should give us some light in just a fewwww ... seconds. There we go."

"Looks like a mausoleum."

As the light fell upon Frodo, his courage awakened in him again, and in a trembling whisper of a voice he asked, "Did Tom send you?"

"Holy crap, a midget."

"Shush child. Hello little friend. Do you know where we are?"

Frodo gazed around at all four big persons now in the barrow, particularly at the woman talking to him. Her skin was ebony and her hair pure driven snow. That almost, but not quite, made him forget the globe of light hovering in the air in front of the red headed one.

"This is the den of a wight. It magicked me and my friends into a stupor and dragged us to its lair."

"What's a wight?"

"Thethethe … that" Frodo moaned as he pointed past the big persons and down the tunnel.

The women swiveled and saw a corpse like figure in a suit of chain mail shuffling toward them.

"Zombie!" shrieked Kitty.

"Bolt?"

"Too enclosed."

"Ok", responded Jean and she split her concentration to maintain the light and also throw a telekinetic wall at the approaching monstrosity.

The Barrow wight slowed a bit, but kept coming forward.

"Can't stop him. Something slippery about him. My TK just seems to flow around him."

"Plan B" shouted Rogue. And she stooped to grab two daggers laying on the ground near the Halflings, and then tossed them to Storm. Storm turned at Rogue's words, then snatched the daggers out of the air. Whirling back, she threw one straight into the chest of the creature.

There was a shriek, and the Wight started backing up, snarling as it groped at the dagger, slowly pulling it out of its decayed flesh.

"It appears to feel pain, Jean. If you can't hit it directly with your TK, maybe you can pull a Darth on Luke in the Cloud City."

"Sounds good," responded Jean. Frodo saw a helmet, a dagger, and several large rocks lift off the floor of the barrow and whip down the tunnel at the Wight, pummeling it. Within a minute, the undead creature was a mass of ruptured flesh and rendered bones, laying unmoving on the tunnel floor.

The flying items dropped to the ground as Jean slumped to the floor. Kitty knelt next to Jean to keep her propped up.

"Nice work Jean. Splitting your concentration on that many things must have been tough." Storm, turned to Frodo. "Little friend, do you know which way is out of here?"

"N..n..n..no."

"That's all right. We'll get out of here. Rogue, keep watch on that … thing. I don't want to be surprised. Kitty, help Jean lean against the wall, then go looking for the shortest way out of here. I'll take a look at our friend here's companions. If that's ok with you, ….?"

"Frodo. My name is Frodo. And these are my friends Sam, Pippin, and Mer." Frodo's voice cut off abruptly as he saw Kitty walk into the tunnel wall and disappear.

As Storm knelt down to begin examining the three immobile hobbits, she said, "My name is Ororo, but people call me Storm. The young lady who just disappeared is Kitty. That one keeping an eye on our ghoulish pal is named Anna, but everyone calls her Rogue. And the tired one keeping this dungeon lit is Jean. We are … a bit special."

"You're like Gandalf. You're wizards."

"Wizards? Not quite. But I suppose that may be as good a definition as any."

"We were on our way to Rivendell to meet Gandalf, when this Barrow wight ensorcelled us. How are my friends?"

"Alive. But they don't seem to want to wake up."

Kitty came back through a wall a bit down the tunnel and walked back toward the group. "I found a boulder that looks like it is designed to pivot. I gave it a shove, but no budging. We'll need a TK punch from Jean to move it. It's a sunny autumn morning outside. Lots of rolling hills and grass."

"Jean?"

"I think I'm up for that. Then maybe I roll a large rock on to that thing to make sure he never goes anywhere again."

"Smart. I think I'll want to sleep soundly tonight ... after I get done wondering where the hell we are."

After Kitty showed Jean the spot, she concentrated a bit. Then a stone rolled and light streamed in, real light, the plain light of day. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the faces of the hobbits lying on it. They did not stir, but the hue of their skin immediately improved. They looked now as if they were only very deeply asleep.

As Storm, Kitty, and Rogue each picked up one of the sleeping hobbits to take them to the surface, Jean walked back down the tunnel to the corpse. Finding a likely in the wall, her TK tugged and tugged till it came out. Then Jean pushed and lifted it just enough with her mind to settle it atop the Wight. As Jean turned to exit, Rogue came back into the barrow and started loading herself up with treasure scattered across the floor: things of gold, silver, copper, and bronze; many beads and chains and jeweled ornaments, and weapons.

"Rogue, what are you doing?"

"Jean, if we're stuck like Thomas Covenant in a fantasy land where we have to fight off Lord Foul's creatures, we are going to need some assets to help us. And these look like assets."

"There weren't any Halflings in the Land. This isn't a book, this is a real place. And … well … smart planning. You never know when one of those things might prove useful." As Jean climbed out of the barrow and into the sunshine, she saw Storm, wind in her hair, examining the three inert little people.

Storm noticed Jean's approach. "They appear healthy, but can't seem to awaken. Any chance you can take a look inside these little fellows heads for a clue?"

"I'm tired and telepathy as you well know is not my strong suit. Frodo, how far till this Rivendell place? Would there be anyone there who could help your friends?"

"If Gandalf was there, certainly. I'm sure the elves could too."

"Elves?" asked Kitty.

"Elves. But Rivendell is far, at least a week or two's journey. And when the Barrow wight took us, I don't know what happened to our ponies."

"Ponies, not cars. Elves, wizards, undead, and magic. Check. I suppose we don't have any better options. I'll take a look." Jean crouched down next to Merry, and a look of intense concentration came over her face.

To Frodo's great joy, Merry stirred, stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and then suddenly sprang up. He looked about in amazement, first at the four Big Persons and then at Frodo; and then at himself in thin white rags, crowned and belted with pale gold, and jingling with trinkets.

"What in the name of wonder?" began Merry.

* * *

As Jean woke Sam and then Pippin, they each reacted much as Merry had, with amazement at their new companions, altered clothing, and escape from the Barrow wight's lair. Once a small sense of calm returned to the hobbits and women alike, Frodo declared, "Let us think of what we are to do now."

"Dressed up like this, sir? Where are my clothes?" Sam flung his circlet, belt, and rings on the grass, and looked round helplessly, as if he expected to find his cloak, jacket, and breeches lying somewhere to hand.

Merry chimed in, "Some clothes and a bit of food would be nice, Frodo."

"Sam and Merry are right. I don't feel much like going on without that first. Are our clothes back in there?" Asked Pippin, as he started to shiver thinking of how the Wight must have changed their clothing in preparation for some fierce ceremony to turn them into ghosts.

"Sorry," responded Rogue. "Lots of treasure, as you can see, but no clothes for halflings."

"We're called 'Hobbits', not 'halflings'. And where'd our ponies go? They had our packs and spare supplies."

"We haven't seen them. I learned a bit about tracking from a friend of ours. I suppose I could go looking. But what are your intentions? Do you still want to go to this Rivendell place?"

"Oh very much. We have to find Gandalf."

"Well rest here a moment and let the sunlight warm your hearts and minds. I think my companions and I shall chat about what help we might offer you," said Storm. And she motioned Kitty and Rogue to join her next to the exhausted Jean, who'd been lying on the grass with eyes closed since her raising of the hobbits.

"Thoughts?"

"We've been captured by the Sentinels and they've placed us in some Matrix like device to give us mass hallucinations while they drain our mutant abilities."

"Get really Kitty, I think Storm meant 'serious' thoughts."

Jean spoke up, "Some of the team has experienced mind control based illusions before, so Kitty isn't necessarily unserious. But I've touched three of their minds, or at least I completely believe I have, so I'm voting this is real."

"What did you happen to pick up from them Jean."

"First, all three feel VERY protective of Frodo. Almost as if he has a mission to perform. Which may explain their obviously intense interest in getting to this Rivendell place. And they are worried about the danger involved."

"Can't blame them worrying if running into things like that zombie are run of the mill occurrences here."

"I don't think they are. These little ones come from a place called the Shire, an idyllic English country side sort of place filled with others of their kind. Their identities are all deeply, deeply rooted in being 'hobbits' of the Shire. And that's about all the surface level read I got off them. Well the one called Sam can't seem to stop thinking about elves. He just met some for the first time very recently."

"So what do we do?" asked Kitty. "Stay around this dump and hope the event that brought us here somehow reverses itself? We might get very hungry waiting for THAT to happen."

"We could go looking for help?" responded Rogue. "These hobbits seem to think this wizard Gandalf would be a great fit for Oz. Same with the elves. If we are in a parallel, alternate universe, maybe they'd offer the best chance for getting back over the rainbow."

While listening to the others, Storm watched while the hobbits removed their barrow garments and began scampering around the grass covered barrow hill. "These little people are frightfully adorable and terribly vulnerable appearing. I can't imagine one in a fight. Since it seems they are expected at Rivendell, perhaps acting as their body guards and getting them there safely would generate goodwill with the powers that be. Not much of a hope for us I suppose, but my soul will feel better knowing we are guarding true innocents while we try to help ourselves. Jean?"

After a longish pause, "Agreed."

"Are we going to get home?" asked Kitty with a whisper.

"I don't know child. The odds look low. But there is always hope. Always. Now go tell our new friends we will help them. And I will go see if I can track their ponies done. I can't imagine they move very fast on just their two hairy, thick feet. Hopefully Logan taught me well." And with that, Storm started walking off the barrow hill in a wide circular pattern, searching for tracks.

* * *

The air was growing very warm again. After being told by Jean that they would help them get to Rivendell, the hobbits happily ran about for a while on the grass. Then they lay basking in the sun with the delight of those that have been wafted suddenly from bitter winter to a friendly clime, or of people that, after being long ill and bedridden, wake one day to find that they are unexpectedly well and the day is again full of promise.

By the time that Storm returned, they were feeling strong and hungry. "Here are your ponies now," she said. "They were with a sixth one on the edge of the forest west of here. That one didn't have gear and slipped deeper into the tree line while I gathered these up. Swear I heard a distant voice calling 'Fatty Lumpkin,' when he disappeared all together.

At that mention, all four hobbits stopped a moment from drawing spare garments from their packs on the ponies and looked at each other. With a shrug they returned to clothing themselves. The sun was mid-sky as the hobbits next turned their minds to food. It was not a large meal, especially as they shared with ladies, but they felt much better for it. While eating, they talked to better acquaint themselves.

"This Rivendell, you said it's a week or more's journey. There clearly aren't any roads here. Do you know where to go?" inquired Storm.

"Well …" replied Merry. "My folks, the Brandybucks, have a bit of dealings near these parts. A little ways to the east we should come across a road of the old Kingdom of men, called the Greenway. When we hit it, we should turn north to bring us to Bree. That's a village of Hobbits and Men sitting at the crossroads of the Greenway and the East-West Road. "

Frodo cut in, "The East-West Road runs from the Grey Havens on the coast in the West through the Shire, past Bree, and on to Rivendell which sits in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Least that's the way Bilbo described it."

"Do many hobbits go to Rivendell?" asked Kitty.

All four hobbits laughed. "Just Bilbo," Pippin answered first. "He's the only Hobbit could ever be described as well travelled. Farthest east most ever get is Bree, and those hobbits are the ones from Buckland, the most eastern part of the Shire."

"Bilbo sounds like quite the adventurous fellow," said Bree.

"You have no idea Ms. Rogue. Why we all near grew up in Bags End listening to his tales of traveling over the Misty Mountains with Gandalf and a bunch of dwarves to fight the dragon Smaug."

"Dragon? Add another one to your list Jean. And did they encounter any other nasty surprises?"

"Well they fought with goblins, but got rescued by the Eagles. Then they rested at Boern's house. Bilbo said he could turn himself into a giant bear when angered. They travelled through Mirkwood forest and got captured by Giant Spiders and then by the wood elves."

"Hey, I thought elves were good guys."

"Oh they are, they are. It's just elves and dwarves don't necessarily always get along. And Gandalf had wandered off somewhere at that point in the journey. But it was just a misunderstanding, the dwarves escaped and made it to the Lonely Mountain where Smaug got killed. Then dwarves, men, and elves joined together to defeat an army of goblins and wargs who showed up wanting to take the dwarven treasure inside the mountain. Bilbo got hit on the noggin in that shindy, but he came out all right."

"And wargs are …"

"Giant wolves. Sometimes goblins ride on their backs."

"Ok. So we are looking at Narnia on steroids. Good to know." muttered Rogue.

"And Gandalf is human, not an elf?" asked Storm.

"Yes. An old and wise Big Person." answered Merry.

"He looks old, but he never ages." Interrupted Pippin.

"The hobbits of the Shire have known him for … ?

"Hundreds of years I guess." said Sam. "He's always just been. Sometimes decades go by without him dropping by the Shire, important stuff to do being a wizard I should imagine. Then wham, there he is. Shows up just for a day or two for a birthday party. Or sometimes he stays an entire season walking everywhere, blowing rings with his pipe weed, talking to anyone who's path he crosses."

"What wizarding have any of you ever seen him do? Anything like one of us?" asked Jean.

Frodo answered. "Not exactly. Gandalf … knows … things. He sometimes knows what you're thinking before you do. Or you know he isn't watching and you go to do some minor tomfoolery and suddenly you see him looking at you and you don't feel like doing it no more. Nothing earth shattering see, but you can just tell there is a lot more going on under his cloak and you surely don't ever want to rile that up."

"Telepathy." murmured Rogue.

"Definitely." Responded Jean. "Probably with compulsion, coercion abilities. Anything of a more spectacular nature?"

"He makes the most interesting shapes out of his pipe weed smoke." said Merry. "He makes bang up fireworks. A year ago he created a firework of that Smaug dragon and had it fly over the party field. Near scared me half to death. Mostly though it's old Bilbo's stories of what Gandalf did on their trip with the dwarves."

"Such as …"

"Well he talked with the Eagles and got them to fly the group of them out of a goblin trap. And the magic sword that glows when goblins are around that he took from those Trolls he tricked into turning into stone."

"There are Trolls too?" broke in Kitty with an aggravated tone. "Very big and strong and like to eat anything smaller than they are?"

Four small heads nodded.

"Add that to the list of what we don't want to meet. The list is getting a tad long for my liking. What else?"

"He turned pinecones into balls of fire and threw them."

"And …"

"Well that's all I can remember." answered Pippin. "Anybody else?"

"He knows a lot and he knows everybody, but that's about all of it." replied Frodo.

"Ok, thanks. So maybe illusion generation, possible minor telekinesis, and a bit of pyrokinesis."

"Don't forget longevity. Might have regeneration with that too."

"Now the question is does he, or anyone else, have this in strength, or is it just wow the locals stuff mixed in with some alchemy and knowing to predict eclipses."

"What about elves?"

Sam piped up, "Elves are wonderful. I saw my first ones just days ago. Beautiful."

"Yes," interrupted Storm. "But what Gandalf like things can they do?"

Four hobbits scratched their heads. Frodo finally spoke, "We don't honestly know exactly. There songs are something to hear. They can put courage in the faint of heart and chase away dark things. They are great healers and craftsmen and story tellers. The mightiest of them are awesome warriors and magic wielders. But what precisely … I don't think any hobbit other than Bilbo could honestly tell you."

"Thank you for all this information my new friends." said Storm. "Now as it appears we are nearly done with our meal, perhaps we should get moving so we are off these barrows before night falls."

* * *

As the hobbits began packing their ponies to restart the trip toward Rivendell, Rogue took it upon herself to find places in their belongings for the treasures extracted from the Barrow. For each of the hobbits she gave a dagger, long, leaf-shaped, and keen, of marvelous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. "Now Merry," Rogue said. "This knife looks long enough as a sword for a hobbit. If we walk into dark and danger, I imagine a sharp blade is good to have." She drew one from its black sheath, wrought of some strange metal, light and strong, and set with many fiery stones. The blade seemed untouched by time, unrusted, sharp, glittering in the sun.

At last they set off. They led the ponies down the hill, and then the hobbit mounted and started to trot quickly along the valley. They looked back and saw the top of the old mound on the hill, and from it the sunlight on the gold went up like a yellow flame. Then they turned a shoulder of the Downs and it was hidden from view.

"I hope we are making the right choice," Storm whispered to Jean.

"Me too. I wish we had some hiking boots or tennis shoes though. Looks like we have a LOT of walking ahead of us."

"Cheer up, at least none of us wore heels."

* * *

They went forward steadily, but they soon saw that the Road was further away than they had imagined. As hours passed and the sun began sinking low, they realized the dark line they had seen was not a line of trees but a line of bushes growing on the edge of a deep dike with a steep wall on the further side. It was not the Road.

"Frodo, this will probably do for making a safe camp for the night. If we make our fire small and in the ditch, it probably wouldn't be seen by anyone."

"Sounds like we could do a lot worse, Mr. Frodo," replied Sam on behalf of the hobbits.

As the sun finally set, the group worked to cut brush for shelter and fuel, as well as gather long grass for bedding. The hobbits shared out what spare clothes they had so the ladies could fashion blankets of a sort to keep the chill night air out.

Once the ponies were picketed, Storm left the ditch alone, looking for food. Within an hour she was back holding two fat coneys. "I don't think these fellas have encountered people for a very long time. They let me get close enough I could accurately throw a stone at them."

"Those are beauties, Ms. Storm. Here, let me cook them up for us. They will be big addition to our provisions."

Later, with partially satisfied tummies, the Hobbits began asking what sort of country the ladies came from. They heard tales of carts moving without horses, of flying machines, water that came out of pipes in every home, of buildings as tall as the sky. They also learned that the powers their new companions had were as rare as wizards in their own country. They were saddened to find out there were no hobbits, or elves, or dwarves. But gladdened that at least goblins, wargs, and dragons were missing too. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin slept that night accompanied by dreams trying to process all the wonderous stories they had heard. Dark thoughts about Barrow wights and other nightmares didn't intrude even once.

* * *

The next morning, after much grumbling at the meagerness of their first repast, they climbed out of the dike and through a gap in the wall. The land was now open and fairly level, and they quickened their pace. Within a few hours they saw a line of tall trees ahead, and they knew that they had come back to the Road. When they halted under the long shadows of the trees, they were on the top of a sloping bank, and the Road would away below them. It was rutted and bore many signs of the recent heavy rain.

They rode and walked down the bank and looked up and down. There was nothing to be seen. "Well, here we are at last." said Frodo. "I suppose we haven't lost more than a few days. Perhaps the delay may prove useful …"

Everyone looked at Frodo as his voice trailed off. The shadow of the fear of the Black Riders came suddenly over the hobbits again. Only now, when the Road lay beneath their feet did the hobbits remember the danger which pursued them, and was more than likely to be lying in wait for them upon the Road itself.

"They're suddenly frightened to death about something," Kitty muttered to Jean.

Jean slowly nodded her head. She coughed enough to gather everyone's attention. "My friends, is there something you should tell us?"

After hemming and hawing sounds came out of the hobbits for several moments, Frodo finally spoke. "There are … or there may be Black Riders looking for us. We've encountered them several times since almost the moment we left Bag End. Once one got very close, but ran away at the approach of the band of elves we told you about."

"Well what are Black Riders? I don't remember them from the long list of fantastical creatures you've already told us about," said Rogue.

"I suppose they must be men. They are shaped like Big People at least. They all wear black and ride great huge black horses," said Pippin.

"And when they get near you Ms. Jean, it feels like a sheet of ice lays cross your heart," added Sam. "I want nothing to do with them."

"And they are looking for you?" asked Storm.

"We don't know," responded Frodo. "The first we ever saw one was below Bag End when it asked Sam's Gaffer whether a Baggins lived there. Then we kept crossing them as we travelled. Each time we hid, or were rescued, like by the elves. They were the reason we moved off the roads. And now we're back on one."

"I'll admit I'm scared. Killer zombie Barrow wights wanting to eat my brain, being kidnapped between Worlds, not knowing where home is, and now about to get chased by mysterious Black Riders," rattled off Kitty. "I'm scared, but I'm not worried, cause we got Storm and Jean to protect us. They're more than tough enough to drive off any Black Rider trying to mess with us mutants."

"We will certainly try our best," added Storm. "Now this village of Bree, shall we reach it today? And will we be able to acquire more suitable big person clothing there? I suspect I stick out like an elf in a room full of dwarves. "

The brief laughter that followed seemed to hearten the party. They quickly resumed travelling. Within a few more hours Bree-hill rose before them. No Black Riders had been seen that day … yet.


	2. Chapter 2 - Welcome to Bree

LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 2 – Welcome to Bree, Visitors Most Unwelcome

The small party of hobbits and mutants had not spent the entire time that morning on the road to Bree singing songs and telling tales. Though when talk of their plans for when they reached their destination petered out, Frodo did share a rendition of "There is an inn, a merry old inn…" to everyone's amusement. Rogue reciprocated with the summer camp classic, "The cat came back," which the hobbits enjoyed even though they'd never seen a tame cat before.

As everyone had been watching her for the last few minutes, no one was surprised when Storm announced, "I think this is close enough. Time to head off the road, and over to those trees. I'm fairly sure no one has spotted us yet."

When the group finally ensconced itself in the shaw of woodland between two recently harvested fields, Storm took hold of the reins of Frodo's pony and scanned the faces of the hobbits. "Are you ok going ahead without us?"

They all nodded. "We'd have had to go on ourselves any way if we'd never met you. And as you said, the quieter our entrance the smarter. Besides, without appropriate clothing, you'd all be the talk of Bree for the next year. Especially you Storm," said Frodo.

"All right then. We'll wait here till you bring us some proper clothes. I'd prefer to have you come back right before dusk, but I worry about us being separated for too long. Are you sure you have enough funds?"

"I've enough left of Bilbo's silver and more from selling Bag End. We'll avoid using any of the Barrow treasure, I think you were right that it might raise too many questions. Hopefully travel fare and horses, or at least ponies, won't be hard to find either. Bree isn't the busiest of places after all. Regardless, one of us will come back for you in a few hours."

Storm nodded and let go of the reins, the hobbits restarted their ponies and headed out of the shaw toward the East-West Road coming in from the Shire.

* * *

"Smart of Ms. Storm to realize that a group of hobbits coming into Bree out of the south and not from the Shire would look odd," said Sam.

"I don't like her suggesting we keep our mouths shut about who we are and why we're travelling. It's not natural for a hobbit to NOT express himself. Ta think we'd babble about Black Riders, or strange Big Person women-folk, or Barrow wights to attract 'attention' she said," harrumphed Pippin.

"She's a far thinker, like Gandalf in many ways I guess. I hope he's waiting for us here, smoking some pipe weed. That would ease things," said Merry.

As their ponies got closer to Bree-hill, they saw the East-West Road cross the Greenway and approach a deep dike with a thick hedge on the inner side. Over this the Road crossed by a causeway; but where it pierced the hedge there was a great gate, thankfully open. Above the hedge they saw a hundred or so houses of men on the lower side of the hill and hobbit dwellings delved into the hill further up the slope.

A man sitting in front of a lodge just beyond the gate jumped up and walked to his end of the causeway when the ponies' hooves first struck the crossing over the dike. "What do you want, and where do you come from?" he asked gruffly.

"We're hobbits from the Shire, come to try and purchase supplies." answered Merry for the group.

"Four hobbits out of the Shire," the gatekeeper spoke softly to himself. In a louder voice, he asked, "We don't often see Shire-folk so much these days. You'll pardon my wondering what business takes you to Bree to look for supplies. Seems ta me you Shire-folk look after yourselves nicely enough."

"We are from Buckland," responded Merry. "I am Mr. Brandybuck. My father hired some Big Folk these past few seasons to help build a new mill. Our seamstresses make them new clothes, but they complain that a hobbit can't sew it right. With winter approaching, we were sent to buy men-made warm gear so they won't nitpick us at every snow. Is that enough for you? The Bree-folk used to be fair-spoken to travelers, or so I had heard."

"All right, all right!" said the man. "I meant no offence. But you'll find more folk than old Harry at the gate be askin' ya questions. There's queer folk about." He stepped aside and let them pass through the gate, but a quick glimpse showed Frodo that the man was still eyeing them curiously. There was something in the look and voice of the gatekeeper that made him uneasy.

"Smoothly done, Merry," whispered Frodo to his companions. "He didn't make the rest of us give our names, so no need to say I'm Mr. Underhill instead of Mr. Baggins."

As the gatekeeper returned to his stoop to sit down, a cloaked figure hiding in the shadows emerged from between two nearby houses and started to follow the hobbits as they clopped down the road curving toward the center of town.

* * *

"Does it strike any of you as odd that we can talk to the hobbits?" asked Rogue.

"From the first moment Frodo opened his mouth and spoke," answered Storm. "Though I only understand maybe eight words in ten. Context usually clears up the rest."

"Noun, verb, adverb, adjective patterns pretty similar too," said Kitty.

"And their accent is definitely British … ish. Not like the Professor. Not cockney or Yorkish either. Sort of in-between," interjected Jean, wagging a hand back and forth.

"Weird," stated Rogue.

"Weird as mutants," Storm said with a smile.

"All in all a lot easier than listening to the Professor read Beowulf in old English," added Kitty, causing the others to laugh. As the chuckles died, Kitty continued. "I miss him. I miss the school. I miss my bed. One night outside, and I really miss my bed. I miss … I miss … I miss everyone."

Storm gathered Kitty in her arms, trying to forestall too many tears. "I miss the Professor too. I miss my students. I feel the same as you child."

"I miss Bobby," added Rogue. "I'm terrified I'll never see him again. I miss John too. I miss how damn annoying he gets when he's all Pyro at the world, the idiot."

"I miss Scott," said Jean. 'And Logan too,' she thought. "But we're X-men. Or in our case, X-women. The Professor created the school to train us for the difficult. Now is that difficult. We aren't in just another Danger Room simulation. This is real life, and we have to depend on each other, no matter what."

They all nodded and quiet settled in for a time as they kept an eye out for any signs of trouble or the return of their new hobbit friends, while keeping their personal thoughts to themselves. Eventually, once everyone's body tension had visibly lessened, Kitty spoke up, "Don't you think Frodo and Sam look familiar? Not Merry or Pippin though?"

"Uhmm, like how?" asked Rogue responding to Kitty's verbal bait.

"I can't put my finger on it. TV or magazines I think."

Rogue laughed, "Sure, didn't Frodo star as Tyrion Lannister in Game of Thrones."

"Nooooo. I'm serious," laughed Kitty. "Their faces, just their faces. I swear I've seen them before."

"Rightttttt."

"Shush children. Eyes forward, I think something might be happening."

* * *

"Excuse me good Matron," shouted Pippin at a passing woman on the Road. "Where might we buy some Big Folks clothes."

"Why would ya ever be wantin that, little gen'leman?" perplexedly replied an in fact matronly appearing middle aged woman.

"We are from the Shire and we have some Big Folks that will be working for us through the winter. We need to buy them warm cloaks and sturdy boots so they can keep working in the cold."

"Ah then. Finnegan an alley back and up the hill two houses makes great coats from sheep hides. Lumper next to the tannery close by the East Gate works leather. Ya might have ta wait a day or two if ya needs much."

"Thank you good lady," responded Frodo and he flipped her a copper coin from his pocket. "Merry, you have the leaves marked with their shoe outlines. So why don't you and Pippin head to the leather worker. Here's a pouch of silver, that should cover it."

"We get the smell of the tannery then? Thanks Frodo. Ales on you tonight at the Inn." complained Pippin.

"C'mon Sam, let's turn around and look for this Finnegan fellow." As their ponies turned and walked back in the direction they'd come, they passed a scraggily bearded man leaning against a house lighting a pipe. Once turned into the alley directed them, the man tapped out his pipe, slide it into his belt, and casually sauntered over toward the alley himself.

* * *

"You drive a hard bargain Mr. Finnegan, and don't you say other. Here's a silver penny a piece for the four winter cloaks and four blankets. Now I'll give you one more silver for the four pairs of gloves, and not a copper more."

"Gloves t'aint easy littl'feller. Lottsa lil' delicate kneedlework by the missus ta getz the fingers right. Takes time and work way from makin' me dinner."

"Well it don't appear to have inconvenienced the size of your gut none yet," interjected Sam. "Now Mr. Frooo … Underhill has made you a sound offer. We got friends to meet up with. Gloves don't use as much material as blankets or cloaks. So take it or leave it, cause we have to be about."

Frodo looked from Sam back to Finnegan and raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'Exactly'.

"All rights. A deal then. Hard drivers yerselves. Not many fools in the Shire I suppose."

"There's enough of them," said Frodo as one more silver penny slipped from his hand into Finnegan's big mitt. Sam picked up the bundle of clothes and they stepped out the door of Finnegan's shack back into the alley. A mysterious voice greeted them.

"Amazing to see your activities in Bree match with the story you told the gatekeeper Master Underwood." A strong appearing man with a scraggily beard stepped out from a nearby shadow close to Frodo. And in a whisper he added, "or should I call you Baggins?"

* * *

"Them Big Folks look none too pretty," said Merry as they squeezed to one side of the Road opposite the Prancing Pony Inn. Eight lean and hard looking men walked eight skinny and mean dispositioned looking horses out of the Inn's stables and on to the Road. Following a guttural call in a language neither hobbit understood, the eight mounted, adjusted the weapons in their belts and then started their horses walking west down the Road past the hobbits. Several of them took long hard glares at Pippin and Merry as they passed.

"Phew. Don't think I'd want to have shared the Inn with THEM tonight. If I hadn't of wanted a pint before, I really could use one know. What do you think Merry?"

"Mind your Ps and Qs Pippin. Don't forget you are supposed to be escaping in secret, and are still on the high-road. And we've the debt of the Barrow wight to still pay off. Let's use our noses and find that tannery."

Pippin couldn't hide a disappointed look, but he nudged his pony forward to keep pace with Merry.

* * *

Eight horsemen followed by a man on foot started over the causeway. From a half mile away, eight mutant eyes peered intently at the activity in front of Bree. Seven riders spread out across the Road and nearby fields. The last rider paused at the end of the causeway to talk to the man on foot, who kept nodding his head. Eventually the one on foot turned back to the village. And the riders, reaching the crossroads, split up. A few went North, a few South, and one West.

"That's a rascally lot," said Kitty.

"Scavengers, bar room brawlers, killers, bullies. But not real soldiers, not enough self respect," stated Storm.

"Could be refuges I suppose. More like scouts or spies. Don't like the leader talking to one of the villagers, like giving orders. Curious to know if they came across our friends at all," mused Jean.

"Not likely, well in any rough way. I didn't see any of their gear or their ponies gear on those bastards. If they'd hurt Frodo or any of the boys, they look the type to have looted the body."

"Well done Rogue," said Storm. "Smart thinking and sharp eyes. Logan would be proud."

* * *

"I am called Strider," he said in a low voice, staring VERY hard at Frodo. "I am very pleased to meet you, Master … Underhill. If I were you, I should hardly talk at all. There ARE queer folk about. And there have been even stranger travelers through Bree lately. Though I am impressed at the deception you've conjured. Are your other two friends as tight lipped? "

Sam protectively stepped between Frodo and the stranger. Frodo returned the man's gaze but said nothing.

"Be careful in Bree. Don't put your foot in it. And particularly don't put your finger in IT." the stranger rumbled.

Frodo and Sam both gasped and took a step or two back. Frodo recovered quickly. "I don't know what you mean," he said, not able to keep all the alarm out of his voice.

"Oh yes you do," answered the stranger placidly. "I should like a less public word with you, Mr. Baggins. Gather your two other friends and we can, ironically, have a quiet word in the Prancing Pony Inn's common room."

"Very well," said Frodo trying to appear unconcerned. The stranger slid back into shadows and the two hobbits quickly loaded the packs on the ponies with their new bought clothing and then led the animals by their halters down to the Road and toward the center of Bree.

"What do we do Mr Frodo," whispered Sam once they were on the Road.

"He's as dangerous a man as I've ever seen, Sam. You must take the pony with the cloaks and ditch down that alley toward the hedge. Cut back along it to the gate and go get Storm. Bring them to the Prancing Pony as fast as can be. The cloaks should cover them enough to get past the old gatekeeper. Bribe him if you have to, now go fast!"

* * *

"Frodo!" exclaimed Pippin when he saw him riding toward them on the Road. "That was easy, we got eight pairs of boots already. Only 5 silver and 6 copper for the lot. Each lady should find at least one pair that fits." Frodo grimaced at Pippin's use of his name.

As they drew close, Merry whispered discretely, "Where's Sam?"

Guiding his pony between his two friends, Frodo answered very, very quietly, "We met a man calling himself 'Strider' who knows about Mr. Underhill AND about Mr. 'B.' Perhaps other _things_ also. And he _knows_ you two are with me. He wants to talk to all of us in the Prancing Pony. He's extremely dangerous looking, so I told Sam to sneak out the gate to bring our friends. I don't think this Strider knows about the ladies."

"Shouldn't we flee?" asked Merry.

"Without Sam? No, not till we're all together. And without supplies, continuing the trip will be VERY difficult. This man may be dangerous, but he didn't hurt us when he could have. So maybe _talking_ is our safest bet till the others arrive."

"Then Jean can flatten him if he gets uppity," added Pippin.

Frodo turned his pony around and the three friends, each with a glum expression, slowly headed back toward the Prancing Pony.

* * *

"Hey, we got a hobbit on a pony starting on the causeway," called out Storm. Three heads quickly jerked to look in that direction.

After 30 seconds, Rogue spoke out, "Its Sam."

Jean checked her watch, "That was quick, not much more than an hour and a half."

"He's almost got the pony in a trot. Ohhh! He's coming right at us. Something must be up. Jean? Anything?" asked Storm.

Jean scrunched up her face for a couple of seconds in concentration. "Anxious, worry. Sorry, can't get anything more. Hobbits have hard skulls."

Storm thought for a moment, weighing the feel of the current situation, the weak points of the original plan, and guessing what would make a solid seeming fellow like Sam appear to throw caution to the wind. "Everybody up people. Let's go meet him. He must want us in Bree fast, so let's not disappoint."

The women picked up what little gear they had and left the wood they'd been hiding in for the field Sam was cutting through. In a couple hundred yards they heard Sam's voice.

"Ms. Storm, Ms. Storm. We met a hard man in the village and he knows Mr. Frodo's name. Mr. Frodo's going to talk to him at the inn. Mr. Frodo's scared a fright so he sent me to get you."

"Calm down Sam, calm down. We're already coming. Do you have clothing for us or do we go dressed as we are?" Storm shouted out.

"No, no, we got cloaks for you," Sam said. He stopped the pony and started pulling cloaks out of the packs strapped to its back and sides. The women finished trotting up to Sam and began passing cloaks out.

"Good! Hoods. I'll stay in the back though," said Storm. "Don't want to tip the skin of my hands, so to speak."

In less than a minute the women were robed and heading back toward Bree. As the X-men walked quickly next to Sam, he filled them in with more background.

"So if this Strider spoke honestly and Merry and Pippin weren't difficult to find, they are probably already at the Prancing Pony right now." stated Rogue.

"Will we have any problems at the gate?" asked Jean.

"When we went in the gatekeeper asked us our names and business. And he heckled me about leaving so soon when I left. He'll be more than a mite suspicious now with me coming back, AND with Big Folk friends. Frodo suggested bribing him."

Sam heard the two teenagers giggle, then Kitty spoke up. "Jedi mind trick time."

Rogue giggled again and in a roboticized voice said, "These are not the hobbits you're looking for."

Jean rolled her eyes and with a hard voice said, "This isn't a silly game, girls. The gatekeeper, good, bad, or indifferent, is a real person. WE don't attend the Professor's school to impose our will on others! THAT repugnant path is for the likes of Magneto."

"Sorry Jean." "Sorry Jean." Both girls replied in contrite voices.

"Alright then. Now my telepathy isn't _that_ good. So Rogue, in case I can't work this guy, you're going to have to have your gloves off. Touch him till he feints. Understand?"

Rogue took a nervous gulp and nodded her head ever so slightly in agreement.

As they stepped on the bridge, Jean extended her mind toward the gatekeeper. She could see him slouched on a stool in front of a hovel close to the open gate. She knew she was nowhere near the Professor in telepathic strength or skill, so her confidence in the situation increased significantly as line of sight boosted her ability to target and focus. The man was on the edge of dozing, but years of gate keeping had attuned his subconscious to note any movement or sounds on the causeway. With just a soft push … no, the man's head jerked up in an effort to waken. Clouds. A soft feather mattress. The sound of a trickling brook. Jean slid a stream of calming imagery into the lobes of his cerebral cortex controlling consciousness. The man's eyes fluttered for a second and then shut. He was asleep. It had taken Jean a five second eternity to accomplish.

Passing through the gate into Bree, color came back to Rogue's face as she put her gloves back on.


	3. Chapter 3 - Unusual Introductions

LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 3 – Unusual Introductions

The Inn had a front on the Road, and two wings running back on land partly cut out of the lower slopes of the hill, so that at the rear the second floor windows were level with the ground. There was a wide arch leading to a courtyard between the two wings, and on the left under the arch there was large doorway reached by a few broad steps. Above the arch there was a lamp, and beneath it swung a large signboard; a fat white pony reared up on its hind legs. Over the door was painted in white letters: THE PRANCING PONY by BARLIMAN BUTTERBUR.

The three hobbits led their ponies under the arch into the yard. A man wearing an apron was sweeping up straw. Upon seeing the companions, the man stopped and bustled over, "Good day, little masters. What may you be wanting?"

Frodo spoke, "We are here to meet an acquaintance in the common room, perhaps latter we will need beds. May we stable our four ponies while we are inside?"

"Surely, surely. A copper a piece. If you stay the night, the stabling shan't cost any extra. Lucky you came today. We just had a large group of Southerners depart this morning. Rough lot. Spent two nights with us. Might not have had room for your ponies earlier."

"Thank you … Mr. Butterbur?"

"A-haw-haw. No, no, I'm Bob, the stable man. Ol' Barliman is a more substantial fellow and be inside."

The hobbits dismounted and handed the reins, along with four coppers, over to Bob. After a deep breath by all three to steady their nerves, they headed up the steps and into the Prancing Pony. They went down a passage way that led to the big common room of the inn. A short fat man with a bald head and a red face stood behind the bar. He had a white apron on and was bustling about storing mugs and checking the amount of beer and ale left in the serving kegs.

"Excuse me …" began Frodo.

The man's head jerked up, "Hallo there … why's as I don't know ya master hobbits, ya must be from the Shire, eh? I'm Barliman. Barliman Butterbur at your service! A pleasure to meet ya Mr. … ?"

"Underhill. His name is Underhill," said a hard voice from a darkened corner.

Butterbur's jowly jaw dropped, "Why Strider, never heard ya come in." Cocking an eye at the hobbits, he spoke in an exaggerated whisper, "Strider is one of them wandering folk … Rangers we call them. He seldom talks, not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind of it."

"And now is one of those times I wish to talk, Butterbur. Alone. To my new Shire friend Mr. Underhill and his colleagues."

"Suit yerself. Got plenty ta do all over the inn. Customers out, Customers in," said Barliman setting down the mugs he was carrying. And as he left the common room, the hobbits heard him muttering to himself, "Mr. Underhill from the Shire. Now what does that remind me of? Ahh, it'll come back, when I have time ta think."

Strider advanced out of the darkened corner toward the hobbits and sat down at a table. He waved his arms at them in a come here gesture, which the friends reluctantly did, sitting down on a bench opposite him. Frodo spoke, "We're here. What have you to say?"

"You're not all here. Where is the one called Sam?"

"He's out with the ponies," replied Pippin. "We're not about to let any suspicious Big Folks get their hands on our way out of here."

Strider nodded his head in appreciation of Pippin's smart, but untrue, words. "First, I will tell you what I know. Second, I will give you some good advice. Lastly, I shall want a reward."

"And what will that be?" said Frodo. He suspected that maybe they had just fallen in with a rascal. Perhaps a little money could pay him off.

"No more than you can afford," answered Strider with a smile. "Just this, you take me along on your … 'way out of here'."

"Even if we wanted 'another' companion, what makes you think we'd choose you? We'd need to know a great deal more about you," replied Frodo.

"Excellent! I shall tell you what I know, and leave the decision on the reward to you. I was looking for a Hobbit called Frodo Baggins. I wanted to find him quickly. I had learned he was carrying out of the Shire, well, a secret that concerned a friend of mine."

Merry and Pippin jumped up with scowls. Frodo's hand unconsciously drew itself to the Ring and clutched it.

"Now don't mistake me. Care is needed." He leaned forward and peered intently at them. "Watch every shadow!" he said in a low, urgent voice. "Black horsemen have passed through Bree."

All three hobbits gasped. "I knew these horsemen were pursuing me. We gave them the slip by journeying through the Old Forrest and across the Downs," spoke Frodo in a near whisper.

This information raised Strider's estimation of the hobbits, but he continued to drive his points. "They will return. And more are coming. I know their number. I know these Riders. And there are some folk in Bree who are not to be trusted, Bill Ferney for instance. He was thick as thieves with a group of Southerners who left Bree this very morning. Ferney would sell anything to anybody; or, make mischief for amusement." Strider's eyes and voice were cold and hard.

"What would this Ferny sell?" asked Merry.

"News of you of course." The conversation stopped while each of the hobbits started thinking about the implication of Strider's words while also continuing to worry over Strider himself.

"Take me as a guide. I have wandered all the lands of Eriador for many, many years. I am older than I look. I might prove useful, if you continue to … Rivendell." Frodo shivered in surprise at Strider's insight to their plans. "You may be allowed to escape from Bree and go forward under the sun. But without me there to take you off the open road, they will come on you in the wild, in some dark place where there is no help. Do you want the black horsemen to find you? They are terrible!"

A heavy silence descended on the room in an answer to the big man's gloomy prediction.

* * *

Storm, Jean, Rogue, Kitty, and Sam on his pony entered the Prancing Pony's courtyard. Bob began to greet them, but Storm snarled "Not now!" and then snatched Sam off his pony. They ran up the steps and into the inn. Just inside the doorway they came upon Butterbur puttering about in his apron.

"Is Mr. Underhill here?" asked Jean urgently.

"Why hallo. Yes, yes, a Mr. Underhill and two friends are in the common room," and he gestured down the hall with his thumb, "talking with Strider."

The group pushed Butterbur to the side almost before he finished speaking, moving toward where Butterbur gestured.

"Underhill. Lots of people interested in Underhill. What's so blasted important about Underhill. Think, Barliman, think," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Strider's hand immediately shifted to his sword hilt when four hooded figures, and a hobbit, near burst into the common room.

"Step back from the hobbits," Jean forcefully called out. The X-men spread out in an arc behind their seated friends.

Strider's eyes narrowed upon hearing the strong, but feminine voice. "I see your friend Sam went to get some companions. Interesting," he drawled. "But I don't take kindly to being ordered around. Especially by people unwilling to even show me their faces," he replied tautly.

Jean paused for a moment, trying to get a read on the seated stranger. Nothing. The man had an exceedingly strong and well ordered mind, with no leakage of thought, as if he knew how to protect his mind from telepathic intrusion. Stymied, she thought talking at this point would be better than fighting.

Strider's eyes widened in surprise as the one who spoke lowered her hood to reveal a strikingly beautiful red haired woman. Seeing the one's lead, two more lowered their hoods to disclose two teenage girls. He promptly controlled his surprise, and said, "You appear to have an unusual set of champions Frodo Baggins. Now the last one, lower your hood too please."

After a moment of hesitation, the last one complied to the request. Another woman, but this one … _this ONE_, while as gorgeous as the first, had skin the color of muddy water and hair the dazzle of a shooting star. Completely startled, Strider staggered off the back of his stool. The words, "A Haradrim. A Haradrim witch" came coolly out of his mouth, in contrast to the bewildered look on his face. In less than a second he mastered the newest shock and began to draw Narsil.

Seeing the blade start to come out, Jean clamped on to it hard with her mind. Strider's arm suddenly stopped in mid draw. He tugged again, harder, this time the blade drew a little further. Jean realized there was something slippery about the blade itself, it fought against her telekinetic grip. Jean shifted her focus to trap the man's arm instead. He pulled again and again with all his might, but the sword would not come out of the scabbard and it felt like a vice was clenching his forearm. Thwarted, Strider's eyes quickly darted around the room to look for other avenues of attack, and possible retreat.

Storm spoke in a hard voice, "We don't want to harm you. But if you've threatened Frodo, we can make things VERY painful for you." Lightening her tone, she added "However, we prefer talking. Frodo? Has this Strider fellow here hurt you or scared you?"

"No Miss Storm, just talking. Some of it's scary, but I can't say he's threatening us. He does know an awful lot about me, including our trip, and strangely he seems to want to join."

"Very well. If it's all right with you Mr. Strider, let's keep 'just talking,' Hmmmnn?" Strider reluctantly nodded agreement. At that indication, Storm said, "Jean, as a show of trust, let go of his sword." Immediately Strider noticed the give return to his arm, sword, and scabbard. He noted the red head continued an alert watch of him. Clearly, another witch. He slowly, carefully retook his seat.

"You know my name. I don't know yours"

Storm pointed. "Jean, Kitty, Rogue. And I am Ororo, though most call me Storm. Satisfied?"

"Some. I too have several names. Strider here in Bree-land. Aragorn in other places. And do you come from Haradrim?" While she certainly had the look, her accent was unusual, and not from anywhere in the south he could place.

"No. Never heard of the place. The four of us are new come to Middle Earth, as Frodo calls this place. As to being a witch?" She wiggled her head a little and a brief smile came across her face. "Think of us, all of us, as Not Wicked Witches of the West."

At the mentions of 'new come to Middle Earth' and 'of the West', a cascade of possibilities and hope surged through Strider's mind. Could these be new Istari come from Valinor to help with the coming war against Sauron, he wondered? Why else would they already be attached with the ring bearer?

"Now that we've shared, your turn. Why the interest in the hobbits and why do you want to accompany them? Where are they going?

'I am a friend of … friends of hobbits. From them, I know Frodo has a secret that he is taking to Rivendell, a bastion of the dwindling strength of Elves. I had been asked to keep an eye out for Frodo and another hobbit. From the Elven-folk of Gildor I learned you had left home and been pursued by Black Riders. But there was no news of your leaving Buckland. I've watched the East Road anxiously for several days."

"Sam talked of Gildor and the elves you met," said Kitty.

"'Black Riders', what do you know of them?" asked Rogue.

"They come from Mordor," replied Strider. The name meant nothing to the mutants, but the hobbits shivered in fear. "A long time ago, they were powerful men: kings, magicians, and lords. In their pride and quest for more power, they fell under the control of the Dark Lord. They are now shades of their former selves, almost shapeless, but immensely powerful, given the form of men by the clothing they wear."

"Are they undead things, like Barrow wights?" asked Jean.

"You know of wights?"

"The ladies rescued us in the Downs," said Merry.

"We'd been captured by one and he dragged the four of us into his lair," spoke up Sam.

"Jean crushed it by levitating rocks and swords at it. After it collapsed, she dropped a stone as big as this table on it," said Frodo.

"It's where we got these swords," added Pippin, slipping a knife blade set with many fiery stones out of the scabbard on his belt.

Strider looked up at the four women, who all shrugged their shoulders in a way to say, 'yes, it's true.' "A Black Rider is much, much stronger than a Barrow wight."

"Well, damn!" responded Rogue.

Strider was impressed with what he'd heard, but also disappointed. Clearly, these women couldn't be Istari, or they'd have known about the Nazgul and Barrow wights. Though they, or at least some of them, had incredible powers.

"Frodo?" inquired Storm, cutting to the most salient point. "Is this true that you carry a secret? And is the reason you are traveling to Rivendell to … give up this secret to Gandalf and the elves."

Frodo reluctantly nodded his head. His three friends all exhaled deeply, knowing the truth to be almost fully revealed and their fates now inevitably intertwined with the Big Folks in the room.

"Fear not little one, we will continue with you, if you still trust us. Remember, we too want to go there in hopes of finding aid to return us to our own Earth. As to whether you trust this Strider …"

At that moment, Butterbur came walking into the common room. "Ahhh, excuse me Mr. … uh … Underhill. Your name finally bobbed up in my brain, and I wonder, I have a letter. Might it be for you? It's addressed plain enough," said Butterbur, producing the letter from his pocket and handing it to over to Frodo. Frodo read the address, 'Mr. FRODO BAGGINS, BAG END, HOBBITON in the SHIRE.'

"A letter for me from Gandalf!" cried Frodo.

"Ahhh," said Butterbur. "Then your right name IS Baggins." Butterbur looked troubled. "Your pardon, but, uhhmmm, Gandalf gave this to me a while ago. I was supposed to send it to the Shire. But I couldn't find anyone willing to go the next day, so I put it in a safe place. And then, well, I forgot about it." Butterbur now looked positively sheepish. "'Barley', Gandalf said to me, 'this friend of mine from the Shire, he may be coming out this way before long, him and another. He'll be calling himself Underhill. Mind that! But need ask no questions. And if I'm not with him, he may be in trouble, and he may need help. Do whatever you can for him, and I'll be grateful', he says. And here you are, and me only remembering it when I heard the name Underhill. Is trouble not far off?"

"We will see Barliman, we will see," said Strider. "Why don't you read Gandalf's letter, Frodo. It likely has important information."

Frodo began to read out loud. "_THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. Midyear's Day, Shire Year, 1418. Dear Frodo, Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once ..." _Frodo's voice trailed off for a bit, only to return. _" You may meet a friend of mine on the Road; a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our business and will help you. Make for Rivendell …" _Again Frodo's voice stopped, though his mouth kept moving as he read the written words before him. _"PPS. Make sure that it is the real Strider. There are many strange men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn."_

"Well that's reassuring," murmured Merry.

"Wait there's more," said Frodo. "A poem. '_All that is gold does not glitter, … Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.' _Well that's unusual."

"Anything more?" asked Storm.

"Just a PPPS about Butterbur having a poor memory and '_Fare Well!_' said Frodo.

"Butterbur's made of hash of things for sure!" exclaimed Pippin.

"What can have happened to Gandalf?!" wondered Frodo. Turning to Strider, he continued. "Why didn't you tell me that you were Gandalf's friend?"

"Would any of you have believed me till now?" asked Strider.

Storm interjected, "Regardless of the past, it now seems you, Strider, on the recommendation of the mysterious and missing Gandalf, are an addition to our little party. As the local area expert, what do you suggest we do next to keep heading for Rivendell?"

Sam frowned. He looked first at Storm and next at his master. He'd tried to keep his peace, but couldn't any longer, and broke out. "With your leave, Mr. Frodo, and begging your pardon Ms. Storm, I say no! This Strider here, he warns and he says take care. He know something, that's plain, and more than I like, but it's no reason why we should let him join us, and maybe go tricking us into some dark place far from help, and then goes a pouncing on us once we're all relyin' on him."

Frodo said slowly, "I … I don't agree Sam. I think, I think Strider is not really as he chooses to look. So I shan't hold that against him, nor the menacing way he introduced himself back in the alley. Besides, Gandalf's letter clearly said Strider was a friend of his."

Undeterred, Sam still eyed Strider dubiously. "How do we know you are the Strider that Gandalf speaks about?" he demanded. "You never mentioned Gandalf. You might be a spy, trying to get us to go with you. You might have done in the real Strider and took his clothes. What have you to say to that?"

Butterbur chuckled at Sam's latest question. "That's Strider sure enough. He's been coming to Bree and The Pony for years and years. Well come to think of it, longer even than that. I seen you when I was a wee boy I did."

"Barliman, I first saw you on your mother's knee 50 years ago. I told Frodo earlier, 'I am older than I look.' However, the lesson in caution is well learned, Sam. You are a stout fellow. As for who am I, the letter answers enough of that. I am Strider, also called Aragorn, a friend of Gandalf's. The poem in the letter also alludes to me. If the red headed lady will permit me to draw my blade?" And he inclined his head toward Jean till she nodded in the affirmative.

Strider then very slowly pulled the blade from the scabbard. "This blade is Narsil." Once it was fully unsheathed, everyone saw it had a jagged end and lacked perhaps a foot of steel. "The poem, written by Bilbo Baggins of all people, says 'Renewed shall be blade that was broken.'"

"You know Bilbo?" exclaimed Frodo.

Strider smiled, "It has been my privilege to help him from time to time when he's been stuck with his poem writing. Perhaps when we are in Rivendell, which is where he now lives, he shall recite one or two on which I have assisted."

"And 'The crownless again shall be king?' Is that you also?" interjected Rogue?

Strider smiled grimly. "Perhaps. Perhaps." After a pause, he added, "Frodo, you may get to Rivendell on your own with the assistance of these ladies. But … it will go easier to trust me."

"We can hope the Black Riders won't come back," stated Merry.

"Yes, what aid against Black Riders can you offer, Strider?" inquired Storm.

"I can take you by the rough ways. I know these lands, and I can get us lost from pursuit as soon as possible. I know ways out of Bree-land other than the main road. I know safe havens to hole up in at night, when the Black Riders are strongest. Once we shake pursuit, we can make for Weathertop."

"Weathertop?" asked Pippin. "What's that?"

"It is a hill, to the north of the Road, about half way to Rivendell. From there we should have a chance to look around. Gandalf will make for that point, if ever he follows us. He would likely leave a message if he arrived first."

"Pardon my asking Mr. Strider, but … uhm … in case of a fight, what could you do against a Black Rider?" Kitty inquired somewhat meekly.

"In day light, when their powers ebb, I'd wager my sword enough to defeat one or two, except perhaps against the strongest, called the Witch King. They might try ensorcellments, but Narsil," he said touching his sword, "would prove a shield of sorts. At night or during extremely cloudy days, I'd only fight long enough to distract them to flee. They fear flame, so it's always important to have a banked fire with ready made torches during evening rests."

"How many are there?" asked Frodo.

"Nine. Now I will ask what _YOU_ can do against a Black Rider?" asked Strider as he pointed at the women.

"Jean, light," said Storm. A globe of light appeared a foot or two in front of the face of the red headed woman. Jean had used her telekinesis to hyper excite the air molecules there.

"I think you also heard of her ability to lift and throw things with her mind. Kitty, table." One of the teenage girls walked into and through the table in front of Aragorn.

Strider's voice caught a bit as he said, "Impressive." Nodding toward Storm he added, "And by one of your names, I take it you have some affinity for the weather?"

"Yes."

"What about the other girl?"

Rogue didn't know where to start. "When, when I touch people … bad things … happen … they get hurt. The first boy I kissed, he was in a coma for three weeks. I can still feel him … his memories … his emotions … in my head. I once touched our worst enemy, an old man called Magneto. Part of my hair turned white, it still is as you can see. I guess I absorb a person's life force, maybe like their soul. The longer I touch, the more I absorb. If I touched Kitty, I could walk through walls too. If I touch long enough, they pass out and the life essence I absorb stays in me longer." Rogue's next sentences came out a whisper, "I'm scared that if I touch someone too long, I'd kill them and they'd stay inside me forever. I always wear gloves and I never let anyone touch me."

"Your gift is a curse and a great burden. I am sorry for you," announced Strider in a low voice.

"She excels. She has a home, which we all hope to return to. She is becoming a strong woman," responded Jean proudly.

"And what of Gandalf, what powers does he have? How well would he fight off a Black Rider?" asked Storm.

"As a rule, most people only see his jokes and toys. His powers, though, are perhaps similar to you two women, but I doubt Middle Earth has ever seen the likes of the girls'. Black Riders would never challenge Gandalf in the light of day, and only in a group of several at night. Perhaps the Witch King would try to assail him alone, but I do not think even he could throw Gandalf down."

"We appreciate how openly you've shared this information. Now back to my earlier question, 'what do you suggest we do next to keep heading for Rivendell?'"

"It is past noon. I do not think we could get far enough away from Bree before nightfall to hide well. I'll need to check your packs, but no doubt we need more food supplies and perhaps other travel provisions to keep a party of nine satisfied for a couple weeks in the wild. We can spend the afternoon collecting those things."

"What about horses or more ponies?" asked Merry.

"You have five ponies already. I strongly advise against a race down the East Road. The Black Riders will have stronger mounts and catch us in the open. We take the roundabout way to Rivendell. We'll all walk. The ponies can carry the supplies. Any more animals only adds more tracks to the small trail we want to make. Even with the powers you 'witches' bring, better safe than sorry."

Kitty snickered, "We have that saying in our world too."

"Barliman, we'll need a room for Frodo and his friends in the hobbit wing. They won't stay there tonight. But we'll let Nob and Bob think they are. Don't worry, I trust them, but if questions start getting asked, I want people to think they are where they aren't."

"They'll be staying with us, won't they?" asked Storm.

"Absolutely. So three rooms all in a row on your upper floor in the Big Folks wing, understand Barliman?"

"Who is going to stay with who in those rooms, if you mind me asking Mr. Strider," questioned Sam. Everyone found that a very penetrating query and all heads turned to look at the Ranger.

Strider's lips parted in a wide smile, "Why all of us together in the middle one of the three rooms. It will be exceptionally tight, but we're going to have to get used to close quarters on our journey, so why not start now. And I doubt any of you would feel safe if it was just you alone all night with me. Besides, there is safety in numbers, just in case."

Storm nodded her head in agreement. "Smart. And do we make up the beds in the empty rooms to look like people and hobbits sleeping?"

Strider's smile got wider. "Exactly. If the decoys are attacked, chances are we hear it in time to alert us."

"Jeez, this is like a bad spy movie," Kitty muttered to Rogue.

"Should we be going to the stable to bring in our packs?" asked Frodo. "And which room do we take them to?

"The fake one first. We can sneak them upstairs after your seen taking the false room. Barliman, go find Nob and have him help Frodo and his friends."

"Very well. Come along my little masters. Nob? Nob?! Where are you, you woolly-footed slowcoach? We have guests to settle. Nob!?" shouted Butterbur as he and the hobbits exited the common room heading to the courtyard.

"And supplies?" asked Storm.

"You have winter cloaks. Footwear?"

"Hopefully on Merry and Pippin's ponies."

"We can check on our way out. We'll need food. I'll take … Jean with me. Hood up of course, not much red hair in Bree. The rest of you keep an eye on the hobbits and prepare the rooms, but stay in the background. Let's go." Aragorn walked out of the common room, followed by the four X-men.

"Storm?" asked Rogue. "Why only Jean?"

"First, it seems even in Middle Earth three's a crowd. Second, the "Haradrim" obviously should mingle as little as possible in this mono-ethnic wonderland. Lastly, he knows I want a strong leash on him when he's out of my sight, and that is Jean. He's smart, I think I'm starting to like him."

* * *

"Are you really a King in exile?"

Strider took the question in stride and kept walking down the Road. "No. At the beginning of the Third Age much of Middle Earth was divided between Arnor, the Kingdom of the North, whose former lands include Bree and the Barrow Downs; and, Gondor, the Kingdom of the South. The Kingdoms were related, with Arnor the senior branch. Fifteen hundred years ago the Kingdom of Arnor was destroyed in a war by the Witch King of Angmar, the same who leads the Black Riders. Gondor with help from the Elves avenged this defeat by destroying Angmar. But Arnor had already been turned into the largely unpopulated wilderness you see. It was never restored to even a speck of its former glory. Then a thousand years ago the King of Gondor died without heir. The Steward of the King came to rule in his stead and that now hereditary position has guided Gondor ever since. I am the heir of the last King of Arnor and carry the broken sword of her kings. However, I lead the life of a Ranger. We are the few descendants of the once mighty knights of Arnor. We wander the wilderness of our ancient kingdom and protect it from wrongdoers and evil creatures. Frodo's Shire, an idyllic, innocent paradise, is one of the places we guard, and without the hobbits even knowing it or about us. Does that make me a King?" Strider asked in summary. He shrugged his shoulders to his own rhetorical question and kept walking.

A silence set in between Jean and Strider till he stopped in front of a house, "We can get grain meal here. Then we'll go get some extra cooking pots up the hill over there. I think I know where I can scrounge up a few ground clothes and blankets too."

"Lucky that Frodo still had enough silver and copper to share."

Strider chuckled, "Yes, money is helpful. Even Butterbur, cheerfully while he aids us, so long we don't stretch him too far, will want his share of Frodo's diminishing hoard, no matter the favors he owes Gandalf."

* * *

"We've got a couple a rooms here in the north wing made special for us Hobbits, when The Pony was built, on the ground floor, just like we prefer, round windows too. I hope you'll be comfortable. We can serve you dinner in the parlor over there. Ah, here's your door. In you go fine masters. If you need anything, ring the hand-bell, and I'll come running."

"Thank you Nob. We shall ring if we think of anything." Frodo said, then closed the door to Nob once all four were in the room.

"Well let's see what sort of pretend hobbits I can make in these beds," said Sam cheerfully.

Merry leaned in close to Frodo. "Things are spinning fast. I'm dizzy trying to keep up. Adventures sounded fun listening to Bilbo's stories."

"Aye. Leaving the Shire is stranger than I ever thought. But the thing I learned most from Bilbo's stories is to trust Gandalf, Gandalf always turns up when you need him, and this Inn is a place Gandalf wanted us. Now let's all help Sam. Then we can relax for an hour till we go back to the courtyard to see what's happening. We can probably sneak our things out after supper."

* * *

After seeing to their rooms, Storm, Rogue, and Kitty returned to the far corner of the inn's courtyard and settled in to wait for Jean and Strider's return. The day was starting to lengthen toward its close. With the time of year being early autumn and most of the harvest already in, Bree-landers both short and tall started arriving in drips and drabs at the Prancing Pony for a bit of liquid nourishment and entertainment. The ladies tried to remain inconspicuous, but the three hooded, untalkative characters were not wholly unnoticed by the locals.

Kitty and Rogue were in their eleventh riveting game of see who can throw five colored pebbles closest to the wall when their four hobbit friends came out of the inn. Immediately spotting them, Pippin started heading over to them when several exaggerated coughs from behind brought him up short. Pippin turned to look back and saw Frodo nodding his head towards the stables. Pippin uttered a brief "oh," and turned red at having already forgotten the plan of avoiding the ladies when in public. The hobbits entered the stable and began grooming their ponies, less the one Strider had taken with Jean on his shopping trip.

Kitty and Rogue returned to the excitement that colored pebble tossing brought, while Storm resumed her quiet watch from the shadows.

Not realizing she'd been so tense, Storm sighed when Jean and Strider came back into view on the road almost to the archway of the Prancing Pony. "They're back," she whispered. "Kitty, go get Frodo and the boys. Rogue, go take watch by the Road. I want to transfer everything they've bought either in The Pony or into the stable ASAP."


	4. Chapter 4 - A Dark Night

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 4 – A Dark Night at the Prancing Pony**

Rogue, having taken her lookout position only two minutes earlier, started backing up into the courtyard, gasping loudly, as the sound of hoof beats rapidly approached. A figure on a powerful silver horse started to come into view. The group turned at the sounds and saw Rogue raise her hand to point as she screamed, "Mag … Mag … MAGNETO!"

Storm's eyes narrowed to focus on the incoming grey clad figure and saw the face, the eyes, of Eric Lehnsherr staring at her over a bushy, grey beard. With hardly a conscious thought, her mind reached into the heavens over Bree and in less than a second brought a bolt of lightning crashing down on her terrible foe.

Gandalf felt the unnatural splitting of nature and with remarkable speed raised his staff high. The descending bolt of electricity flew to the staff like a lightning rod, but the deadly current, instead of passing through the staff and into his body, cascaded outward in multiple directions like sparks from a Van De Graaff generator.

The sudden light show transfixed everyone, even Storm, in the courtyard. Gandalf leapt on the pause and swept his other arm in an arc that encompassed Storm, Jean, Strider, Butterbur, and Pippin. All except Jean, who merely stumbled, went flying ten or more feet through the air to land hard against walls, kegs, or flag stones.

"Stop, STOP!" screamed Frodo.

Jean's mind responded and she flung a barrel as a projectile at the grey clad 'Magneto' and his horse. Shadowfax nimbly danced aside, disrupting Gandalf's next conjuration, and the barrel shattered on the house across the street, spraying a huge swath of Butterbur's finest beer to the ground.

Sam and Merry picked up Frodo's yells of "STOP!" and the three hobbits bravely ran in-between their new friends and their old one. The courageous charge into the middle of the field of fire brought an abrupt halt to immediate hostilities as neither the mutants nor Gandalf dared launch an attack that might hit their small friends.

As Strider rolled to his feet, his voice was heard too, shouting "Hold Mithrandir," in Sindarin. He knew not why Storm, truly living up to her awesome name, had struck out at Gandalf. But he feared Gandalf's wrath at the surprise attack might destroy these unusual women whom he'd judged as trustworthy and hopefully assessed as potential allies.

The minor impasse lengthened, though neither side dropped its guard. Gandalf kept his staff, glowing with swirling hues of light, raised high. Storm stayed tapped into the convection loops of the weather cell above Bree, ready in a blink to hurl down destruction from the sky. Jean held both a pitchfork and a ladder in hovers, ready to accelerate and strike at Gandalf from different angles.

Frodo ran at Storm, tears streaming down his face. "Please Storm, please. Stop. That is Gandalf. My friend of decades. I, We, You … need him."

Strider slowly stepped forward, arms out and hands up. "Truce? Everyone? Truce? Storm, I don't know what caused you to break the sky, but Gandalf is not your enemy. He is NOT! Understand?"

"HE looks EXACTLY like our greatest enemy. HE almost killed Rogue last year. But for your sake Frodo I will entertain the possibility that he is not Magneto." Storm nodded at Jean. Gandalf heard projectiles clatter to the ground and felt the Haradrim colored one begin to unleash her grip on the elements.

Gandalf, though not relaxing his vigilance, lowered his staff, which ceased to glow, in response to the women's first step toward peace. With raised eyebrows and intense eyes, he said, "Frodo, my boy, I am exceedingly glad to have found you. However, I think the … 'interesting' company you keep is beyond anything even I could have imagined."

With a reduction in tension starting, Strider pushed to continue the thaw. "Storm, your earlier demonstrations failed to show the full scale of your amazing abilities. Chance favored Frodo when you became his champions in the Down. Lucky too that hobbits are excellent judges of character."

Gandalf blinked in surprise at seeing a teenage girl phase through the stable's wall and go to hold the gloved hand of a sobbing wreck of another teenage girl splayed on the courtyard flagstones.

"Amazing abilities indeed," murmured Gandalf.

"Ahem," said a still hunched over Butterbur. "Is the fight over? Because I think this little master is hurt," he said and pointed over at Pippin's unmoving form.

Strider and Storm rushed to Pippin first. Their hands reached out to check him for injuries. Jean arrived next. Gandalf positively flew off Shadowfax to come to the hobbit's side also. "I fear he hit his head when I sent you all for a tumble," the Grey One stated.

"I feel a nasty bump on the back of his head," Strider stated.

Storm lifted Pippin's eyelids, "His eyes aren't dilating, a bad concussion at least. Maybe some of the skull is pressing against his brain. Jean?"

Gandalf watched the face of the red haired crinkle in concentration. He felt a focused surge of power flow from the woman into Pippin. "Impressive," the wizard whispered. "A combination of mind speech and mind movement. I would never have thought to try that on a skull fracture."

"My noggin hurts," mumbled a small, soft hobbit voice a minute later. Several large sighs quickly followed that pronouncement.

"Oh very good indeed, and an exceedingly thick one too" chortled Gandalf looking round at the others gathered next to Pippin. The wizard's gaze had also happened to take in the doorway of the Prancing Pony, several of its windows, and the entrance to the courtyard. "It appears our earlier antics have drawn a crowd. We can't cost Barliman his customers. So instead of kicking them all out of The Pony, why don't we repair to the stable for a time. There are undoubtedly several tales worth hearing."

Gandalf stood and shoeing Frodo, Merry, and Sam in front of him, proceeded toward the stables. Strider gently lifted Pippin and followed. Storm and Jean walked over to gather Rogue and Kitty.

"What's going on Storm," whimpered a near hysteric Rogue.

"Apparently that's Gandalf."

"But he … he … he…" and she broke off crying again.

"I know child, I know."

"Think of it this way," injected Jean. "We've been inexplicably transported to some sort of alternate, pseudo Earth reality, where fantastical creatures live, and everyone believes in magic. Should we then be surprised that one of their 'wizards' is a doppelganger for one of the most powerful mutants alive?"

"At least he _appears_ to be a good guy, maybe. Frodo did vouch for him. My Matrix comment from yesterday isn't looking so far-fetched now though, is it? Magneto's image is just the sort of thing our minds would mass hallucinate together if …" commented Kitty.

"Shush Kitty. Rogue you think you can stand and walk to the stable with us?" At her nod, Storm continued, "Then everybody up. And Jean, if you're not too wasted after helping Pippin, think you can get a read on this Gandalf? If he is Magneto, he isn't wearing his protective helmet. You might get something from him."

"I'll try," Jean replied.

* * *

The hobbits and men were mostly settled down on bales of hay or stools when the women finally entered the barn. Sam and Merry fussed over Pippin. Frodo simply stayed close to Gandalf, his security blanket after the stress of the last week. Gandalf placed himself to get the longest view of the stable entrance and used that position to intently observe the approaching ladies.

Having a mostly uninterrupted moment, aside from Frodo's attention, to actually scrutinize them, his mind near boggled at the sight. Each contained an inner spark that blazed through their fleshly veil like one of the Firstborn, though they were clearly all children of man. The girl who walked through walls burned dimmest. The Haradrim colored mistress of the air lit the unseen world as bright as Glorfindel, an Elf Lord of a house of princes. The sniffling girl shown almost as bright, but part of her glimmer sparkled in ways both beautiful and terrible. The last one frightened Gandalf to the core of his being. Her spark was a flame, a giant bird of prey shaped flame, barely chained to the very flesh its power constantly tried to surge through. Gandalf plastered on his kindest smile when he felt the giant raptor tap gently at a wall of his mind.

_(hello little bird. is there something i can do for you?)_

_(who are you?)_

_(gandalf. an istari of valinor. Does that mean anything to you?)_

_(no.)_

_(you are not of this world, are you?)_

_(no. we come from far, far way._ [**images of a large stone school with children, flight by a giant winged machine, travel by mechanical cart, a seemingly peaceful farm, an attack by large automatons, and then darkness – a barrow-wight's lair and defenseless hobbits.**] _where is here?)_

_(middle earth, a land of hobbits_ [**images of the shire**]_, dwarves_ [**images of forges and underground halls**]_, elves_ [**images of songs under trees and stars**]_, and men_ [**images of the bustling streets of minas tirith**]_. a land also of fear _[**images of wargs, orcs, and corsairs**]_, i am sorry to convey)_

(i_ apologize for our attack. you resemble our greatest enemy_ [**image of gandalf without a beard dressed all in muted red, wearing a helmet**]_, though he once was our leader's greatest friend. you are not him are you?)_

_(no. only gandalf.)_

_(can you help us return home?)_

_(perhaps. but first, responsibilities.)_

_(frodo. we understand there is grave danger. we would help.)_

_(ahhh hobbits, an almost endless capacity to charm. be careful before making promises. that particular hobbit's road will be very dark indeed.)_

"Now about those tales I'd like to hear," said Gandalf. "I'm sure they will take some time. So I hope Barliman forgives our earlier disturbance of his establishment and thinks to send us some beer. Until then, I can at least smoke some pipe weed."

As the four ladies settled themselves down in the stable, Jean flashed Storm a quick, reassuring smile.

* * *

"What an astonishing saga," extolled Gandalf as dusk began to settle and the long shadows in the stable turned to simple darkness. "My blood chills at the harrowing escapes you and your friends made, Frodo, in escaping the Shire by the hairs of your toes. Luckily, it did not come for naught out there in the courtyard. It is no small feat to have come so far, and through such danger."

"We should never have done it without Gildor and the elves, Tom Bombadil, and Jean and Storm" said Frodo. "We needed you. I did not know what to do without you."

"I was delayed," replied Gandalf, "and I fear that nearly proved your ruin. And yet, with the extraordinary appearance of your lady friends, it may have been for the better."

"I wish you would tell us what happened!"

"All in good time. We must soon make plans for this night."

"Why were you delayed?" piped in Merry.

"You ought to tell us that at least," added Sam.

"You will hear all you wish to know, and more, in the days ahead on our journey. At the moment I will only say that I was held captive."

"You?" cried all three hobbits. The women noted how Strider too perked up at these words.

"Yes, I, Gandalf the Grey. There are many powers in Middle Earth, for good or for evil. Some are greater than I. Against some I have yet to be measured. I fear we soon will _all_ be measured. The Dark Lord of Mordor and his Black Riders have issued forth. War is preparing!"

"Then you knew of the Riders already?" burst out Frodo.

"Yes, I _know_ of them. I spoke to you of them once in Bag End, for the Black Riders are the Ringwraiths, the Nazguls, the Nine Servants of the Lord of the Rings. But I did not know that they had arisen again or I would have fled the Shire with you at once. I heard the news only after I left you in June. But again, that story must wait. I fear our display an hour ago in the courtyard has emblazoned an extremely large _**GANDALF IS HERE**_ sign visible to any eyes watching from the Sea to the Misty Mountains."

"We are revealed," stated Strider in a hard voice.

"Quite. Tonight, when the moon lowers, Black Riders will enter Bree in search of us, following the leads passed them by their spies."

"Ferny," Strider added in an icy whisper.

"And others, some neither man nor hobbit. Mordor uses many tools."

"Then why have we been sitting on our butts? Shouldn't we get out of here?" asked a nervous Kitty.

"Kitty, Pippin can't be moved tonight, perhaps not even tomorrow, or his brain might become permanently damaged. We can't leave him," cut in Jean.

"And Gandalf I think wanted to hear our stories, so he could better assess the capabilities of his potential allies," said Storm as she looked at Gandalf with raised eyebrows.

Gandalf chuckled, "As handsome, strong, and unexpected a set of allies as I've encountered in centuries, I dare say. Flight by pony and foot out of Bree into the coming night would only play to the Black Riders' strengths. In the village we can defend ourselves in works of our own choosing, backed by well lit fires to discourage what passes for a Nazgul's heart."

"Here then," guessed Strider. "Butterbur will lament more than a loss of a barrel or two of beer by the morning. How many do you suppose?"

"Hopefully no more than five. They have not a long time to respond and gather together. With a bit of luck they are spread apart leagues and leagues along the Road looking for Frodo."

"What are our chances if all nine attack?" inquired Storm.

"Dire. But far from hopeless."

"Great," Kitty sarcastically muttered to herself.

* * *

Rogue saw Sam's hand shake as he wiped a damp rag across Pippin's brow. "How is he?" she asked.

"No sign of fever. Miss Jean says she is pretty sure there are no bone fragments poking about inside from where he hit his head. And she says his eyes dilate to light, which is supposed to be a good sign. At her request we've been waking him every hour ta make sure he can wake up. He don't like that much, but he falls back asleep right quick. H .. how are you?"

"Scared. Gandalf says I am not to touch the Black Riders for any reason. Since my powers aren't much good in this fight, I'll be with you her in the back stall helping to protect Pippin and Frodo. Don't know what good I'll be."

"Strider said they fear fire, so you can brandish a torch if they get close."

"What about you and Merry?"

"Gandalf told us if confronted we must thrust true at the first try. He believes the Barrow blades you gave us can pierce a Black Rider. However, their foul magic will cause even such an enchanted blade to melt should it strike and t'will render the wielder deathly ill."

"Well there's a cheery thought. Maybe you should choose fire too."

* * *

"Frodo, come sit by me."

"What is it Gandalf?"

"The moon lowers. If we are to be attacked, the wait won't be much longer." Gandalf leaned in close to the hobbit so his next words were only heard by Frodo. "Whatever else you do tonight my boy, you must resist the urge to put on the Ring. The Black Riders will call for the Ring through the unseen world. They are tormented by their master in Mordor to seek it at all costs. You, as the Ring Bearer, will hear these calls. I will fight them as much in that unseen world as when you see me brandish my staff and swing sharp Glamdring here. Resist them Frodo, resist them with all the might of your strong hobbit heart. If you put on the ring, you place yourself half in their wraith-world. To do so would be the gravest peril. They would then be able to see you in full and use all their terrible powers to ensnare you and turn you into a wraith under their control. Resist their torment, resist with all your might."

Frodo took a long, slow gulp. "I will do my best," he whispered.

With a large smile on his face, Gandalf responded, "Good lad. Of course you will." And then he gave Frodo a hug before shooing him to the back, hill-side of the stable.

* * *

"Anything?"

"The psychic tension in this hamlet is thick enough to cut with a telepathic butter knife. They know something bad is going to go down. But I'm not picking up anything … _unusual_."

"Before this is over I think we're going to have to come up with several new terms for unusual."

"Ha. And a scale to quantify them with. What do you think of Gandalf's plan?"

"It seems sound. Nothing fancy. Multiple layers of defense. Frodo and Pippin in the middle. He's the one who knows the enemy's capabilities."

"If he's right, smart to place Rogue in the last line. I'd hate to think what touching some undead, magical abomination would do to her soul."

"And smart of him to tell you to keep your mental shields at full strength. We don't want those things messing with our minds."

"He seems pretty sure we'll win."

"Yeah. I like how he's keeping Kitty to the side and wants her to go after their horses once they dismount. Hindering an opponent's mobility is basic tactics and will help our escape later. Gandalf's thinking a step or two ahead. Hopefully Kitty is up to it. I wouldn't care myself to have to kill horses. Weird how he had _his_ horse lead our ponies out of Bree. Said Shadowfax would keep them together and safe away from the fight."

"I swear I think he might have been telepathically communicating with …"

_(reveal yourself. come to us. join us. release your burden. put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

* * *

"They come," announced Gandalf. Those not already in position quickly scampered so, as a vast wave of despair began to sweep through Bree. Shrieks of terror and madness rolled in torrents throughout the village. As the thunder of hooves came down the Road nearer and nearer to the Inn, so too did the sounds of misery and insanity erupting from the throats of men and hobbits come closer with each house passed by the racing figures of six mounted shadows.

A lone figure in grey stood just inside the gateway to the Prancing Pony's courtyard. A bulwark of calm and resolve upon which the raising storm of desolation broke, leaving those close by with upraised hearts. The six Black Riders yanked their ebony steeds to a stop along the Prancing Pony's face to the Road. A great dark shape, the Lord of the Nazgul, pulled ahead of his brethren into the archway.

"You cannot enter here," shouted Gandalf in challenge, and the huge shadow halted. "Go back to the abyss! Fall into the nothingness awaiting you and your Master! Go!"

The Black Rider flung back his hood to reveal an empty space for a head. Yet within the void shown two red fires for eyes and upon it sat a crown. "Old fool!" his voice howled. "Death is upon you!" The Witch King pulled forth a broad sword from his belt and the blade lit up in crimson flames.

"_Naur an edraith amen!_" shouted Gandalf in reply and struck the straw strewn flagstones of the courtyard with his staff. A spout of green and blue flame sprang out from the staff, immediately sparking the flammable ground covering into a blaze.

The Nazgul Lord's horse reared and backed up from the quickly spreading fire. Hard, grasping words in an unknown language poured from the non-existent mouths of several of the Ringwraiths, bending reality to their will and causing the flames to diminish and sputter.

Gandalf did not try to contest control of the minor conflagration, instead he moved his open hand to swing the gates of the courtyard shut in the faces of the retreating Black Riders. Then holding his staff aloft, Gandalf chanted words of his own in Quenya, the language of the Nolder, causing a glow of radiance to shine from the staff upon the gate.

Barks of anger met the Istari's trickery that allowed him, in their very faces, to place a shutting spell on the gate. The Witch King responded by smiting his flaming blade against the barrier. With each blow he recited a counter-spell. The other Nazguls quickly added their own words of power, cried aloud in the same dreadful forgotten tongue, to their leader's effort. The gates jumped and buckled, as both sides fought to master them. Gandalf turned and twisted his staff, more elven words flowing from his mouth, sweat starting on his brow.

* * *

Storm felt a sharp chill pierce through her heart when the lead Black Rider revealed its faceless visage to the wizard. In that moment, she knew they confronted the personification of an evil beyond the depth of reason. Gandalf's defiance of the creature broke the moment's frightening hold on her and instincts honed in years of Danger Room training kicked in. Slowly, slowly, slowly, to avoid the notice of any weather wise who might be watching, she reached into the skies and began nudging the eddies of temperature variance and currents of the air to build a reservoir of energy to tap into.

* * *

Jean, crouching in a corner of the courtyard, sobbed and sobbed. Her mind hiding behind the tightest shields she could erect, couldn't stop the hungry, unyielding voices relentlessly battering her. Voices not knowing or caring that she could hear them, hear them loudly, incessantly.

_(join us)_

_(The Ring!)_

_(release your burden)_

_(The Ring!)_

_(serve The Master!)_

_(The Ring!)_

_(prove your worth)_

_(The Ring!)_

_(rule with us)_

_(The Ring!)_

_(The Ring!)_

* * *

Aragorn stood in the entrance to the stable. He was the chokepoint to Frodo should a Ringwraith break past Gandalf. His eyes flickered between the struggle for the gate and Jean's inert form. She appeared overcome and near comatose. Elendil's heir had earlier felt the brush of the Nazguls' terror, but they could gain no purchase in his heart. And now, with the Black Riders engaged, was the time for Jean to strike, but she either couldn't or wouldn't. He well knew the panic these servants of Mordor engendered in mere mortals. Abandoning his post, he rushed across the courtyard to her side.

"You must strike now!" he shouted, his face an inch from hers. Only tears greeted his pronouncement.

"Gandalf cannot hold the gate longer! His strength wanes!" Gasping sobs.

Aragorn dropped Narsil and grabbed Jean by both shoulders, shaking her fiercely. "Frodo will die! The world will burn!" he yelled.

"I … I … I can't," Jean screeched.

As Aragorn's hand swept forward to slap Jean's face, he bellowed, "Know thy self!"

In the instant before he was flung across the courtyard by an invisible hand, he thought he saw an image of a burning bird flicker in Jean's eyes.

* * *

Kitty started at Gandalf's brief words, her thoughts having been focused on the upcoming task. No smell-less, bloodless, holographic Danger Room exercise with the simple purpose of the Professor trying to startle her into de-phasing as she travelled from Point A to Point B to Point C. Since the 'Event,' Storm and Jean hadn't let Kitty forget how _real_ their situation was. She'd been scared sh*tless only hours ago when Storm had gone off on Gandalf. And now the Magneto look-alike old man was giving the orders! Orders for a possible life and death struggle. Middle Earth was turning out as weird as a thirteen year old girl first discovering she could fall through solid floors. Before she knew it she'd crossed the Road and phased into the house across from the Inn.

No one was in the main room. Or at least no one she could see. Good.

'What the hell!' she thought to herself as the frightened moans of Bree grew audible and then crescendoed closer and louder and closer. When shrieks started upstairs of her, Kitty grew goose bumps as her hair rose on end. 'I am never watching another horror movie again, I am never watching another horror movie again,' she repeated to herself as she angled next to a window to peer out into the street.

'Horsemen,' and she ducked back. The old man's plan was good. Well, good for her. No mixing it up with the bad asses. 'Wait till they get off their horses, have their backs turned, sneak out, and …' she contemplated, then whispered "_snickt_"' as she fondled the small blade at her side. Just how many weapons did Strider have secreted about him, she wondered.

Never having had a 'horse' period as a girl growing up, not even with the computer games she played, Kitty was thankful she wouldn't be forced to assault a part of her childhood. Still, cutting the tendons of a horse would be super yuck. 'If I throw up while I'm phased, what happens to my puke?' she wondered.

Lights! Fire! 'Oh crap. Pay attention girl.' Kitty forced herself to peer back out the window. 'OK. Still on their horses. F*ck their huge! How am I supposed to get close to that?'

* * *

Several bales of hay in the courtyard burst in fire and suddenly shot up in the air several hundred feet. The acceleration through the air added fuel to their fire, turning them into blazing comets. With tears streaking her cheeks, Jean turned the comets and hurled them from on high even faster down at the Black Riders on the Road.

Two bales directly struck Nazguls, turning their cloaks into torches. The burned horses went crazy throwing their riders to the ground where they writhed in agony while trying to chant spells to extinguish the blazes covering them.

The Witch King noticed a bale plummeting straight for him just in time to nudge its trajectory while turning aside his horse. The bale instead struck the road and spewed flaming embers that caused all the rest of the Black Riders' mounts to rear in fear, dismounting them.

With the Ringwraiths in disarray, the battering of the gates ended. Jean's assault on the tormentor's of her mind did not. Barrels, crates, and flagstones torn from the courtyard floor were pushed into the air above the Prancing Pony and launched at the Road. The dodging Black Riders, not knowing to be thankful that their new enemy lacked direct line of sight of them, used their eldritch powers to turn aside or demolish any projectile coming too close. Distracted, they failed to notice the thickening skies over head.

* * *

A weary Gandalf leaned against his staff and mustered a smile. The gate had almost left his control, but then the first of his new allies had struck, if a tad belatedly. He enjoyed watching through the slates of the gate as the foul creatures danced in the street to avoid being crushed. Through the long breaths he drew to recover from his efforts, he began to taste ozone. And his smile grew even wider.

* * *

Perched atop the main roof of the Inn, watching fiery havoc plummet on these denizens of hell, Storm finally began to speed up the convection drafts and started bouncing them off each other to generate vast amounts of static electricity in the air above. Within ten seconds, enough energy lay at her command for multiple lightning strikes. A brief thought later and Storm's fury added to the tumult in Bree.

Two Black Riders flew across the street, like dolls thrown by an angry child, transfixed by bolts of electricity. The Witch King, the leader and strongest of the Nazguls, again proved his superiority. He met each bolt thrown at him with a swing of his flaming sword, interrupting the current and shedding its energy back into the sky. He now realized that they faced forces greater than just the accursed Istari. They must flee soon or risk their very corporeal beings to the onslaught. But with the Ring so close he could smell it, a last effort had to be made or the ire of their Dark Lord would make death itself a release. He barked an order at his two brethren closest the street-side wall of the stable.

Their obedience complete, they ceased trying to defend themselves and turned toward the wall. One pulled out a Morgul blade. The other drew breath and uttered a word of Udun so bathed in power the stone of the wall obeyed the command shouted at it. "Break!"

* * *

The hobbits and Rogue huddled together in the middle stall at the back of the stable. For a breathless time they sat there, silent and alert, each gazing toward the stable entrance where Strider stood guard. Nothing happened, till they began to hear the moans of Bree. At Gandalf's shout, terror finally overcame Merry and he threw himself flat on the ground. Sam shrank to Frodo's side. Rogue started to quiver with the terror swelling throughout her. Frodo too quaked as if bitter cold. Then his terror ebbed as his attention was drawn to the far off sounding echoes in his mind.

_(reveal yourself. come to us. join us. release your burden. put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

_(put on The Ring!)_

A sudden temptation to put on the Ring swallowed every other thought in his head. The desire to place the Ring on his finger laid hold of him. He clutched at the Ring under his shirt, then drew forth the necklace on which it rested to stare at it.

Lights flashed. Thunderclaps reverberated. His friends shouted in abject terror. He held the ring between two fingers of his right hand and heard none of it. His left hand raised, one finger moving slowly, so slowly toward the opening. His body shivered at the sweet release he knew was a moment away.

KA-BLAM! The wall opposite their stall exploded showering him with bits of stone. The blast left a hole big enough for a man to walk through. Frodo's eyes widened as a figure of death crawled through the dust filled opening, a gleaming black knife held ready, held ready to stab him.

Gandalf's earlier warnings flooded back to Frodo's brain. To wear the Ring was to put himself in the hands of this vile, depraved creature. The necklace and the ring dropped from Frodo's fingers and he began to crawl backwards, to hide behind his friends, all the while croaking with shaken breath, "help me, save me, don't let him take me."

"I'll save you, Master!" shouted Sam the True. And the little hobbit, brandishing a torch in front of him, rushed at the Black Rider. The Ringwraith grabbed the poorly held torch with its open hand and brutally kicked Sam in the chest with a heavy boot, dropping him to the ground.

Sam's action triggered Merry and Rogue from the fright gripping them. The two propelled themselves at the intruder, the hobbit with a Barrow blade and the mutant with a torch. The taller one the Nazgul dealt with first. Rogue ducked a slow swing of the Black Rider's knife, but the blow had only been meant to move her close to his other hand. Rogue saw stars and then nothing as a metal gauntleted hand drove mercilessly into the side of her face. Her unconscious hand let go the torch and the straw on the stable floor started to burn.

The dark figure now loomed like a giant above poor, hapless Merry. Regardless, he kept his blade steady and aimed at the evil lurching toward him. The Ringwraith's wrist snaked its knife out at the insignificant target and the Mogul blade touched the edge of the weapon forged in Westernesse many, many centuries earlier to fight the evils of Angmar. An explosion of white and black light snatched the Barrow blade from Merry's hand as the eruption spun him around till his head hit the side of the stall, knocking him out. That damage little mirrored the infliction wrought upon the Nazgul. The outburst of unearthly forces disintegrated the Mogul knife and blew the undead creature backwards off its feet.

As the Ringwraith staggered upright, still bent on completing its mission, he saw a sight from another Age of Middle Earth, an Edain of the noblest demeanor charging in all his righteous fury with fire and steel in hand. For a split second, the Nazgul's fortitude waivered, and then spirit quailing, he fled back through the hole in the stable wall.

Rain and wind swept down on Bree, drenching what flames remained around the Prancing Pony Inn and extinguishing the lingering stench of Mordor.

* * *

Kitty instinctively ducked again below the level of the window when several balls of fire smashed down from the sky. From her knees she peeked back in time to see two burned horses bolt off. 'No way I'm catching those two.'

"Ooooooww!" Things, hard things had crashed on the Road throwing shrapnel like pieces of wood and stone in every direction. Some had smashed the pane in front of Kitty, sending glass shards into her face. She ducked back down again and wiped at her face. Her hand came back bloodied. 'Time to get out of here!'

Kitty turned west and ran through walls into the next house down. She looked through a whole window and got a glimpse of the street. 'Ahhhh, three more dorks off their horses. Hey is that dude's sword on fire? Did Jean do that?'

'Time to move kiddo.' She pulled the blade and slowly passed through the wall on to the chaotic street. 'Don't look Big Boy, don't look … GAHHHH!' Multiple lightning strikes pounded across the street. Kitty felt a residue of the hyper charged electric currents even in phased form. 'Holy sh*t, Storm's not holding anything back. Damn'it, stop moving already ya stupid mule.'

The nearest horse, whether seeing Kitty or already spooked beyond all magical mastery took off down the street past her. Swing … and a miss. The bad asses were hopping around even crazier with Storm joining the party. 'Crap, did that one see me?!' She dropped flat into the mud of the street and phased so that everything below eye level was underground. 'Nope, I'm good.' And she started to crawl the twenty feet toward the only horse anywhere close to her.

Kitty drew herself completely out of the Road and made ready to slash the left rear fetlock of the beast. 'Back kick!' she roared to herself and phased a millisecond before a giant hoof speared through her head. Woosh, the leg came back through her. "Now!" she shouted and felt the razor sharp edge slice through tissue and tendon.

KA-BLAM!

"Ooooooww!" More things hurt. 'Those jerks just blasted a hole to the stable. Must have got hit by pieces of stone. uh oh, they're retreating.' Kitty slipped back into the street. This time on her back and deeper, only nose, eyes, and forehead showing. The one dude was still on his horse and able to grab the reins of the only other unhurt horse still there. Two other doofuses grabbed a bunch of empty space from which burned rags and boots hung. They all started running down the street toward the south eastern gate.

Kitty stood up. "Phew, that could of gone worse," she congratulated herself. 'Let's go see what happened to the guys,' and she headed toward the hole in the wall of the stable. Suddenly a Black Rider ran through the hole and right at her.

'Phase!'

Later, when asked what it felt like to have a Nazgul pass through her, the best answer Kitty ever had, besides pain, lots and lots of pain, was having to swim through a pool of ice cold raw sewage. Every molecule of her body felt like it was frozen in filth.

As rain fell, Kitty finally realized she was kneeling on the ground. 'Hunh,' she thought through the agonies rippling over her. 'So that's what happens when I puke.'

* * *

"_A Elbereth Gilthoniel_," the _Song to Elbereth_ had just begun in the Hall of Fire, when Elrond abruptly arose from his chair near the fireplace, causing the next notes of the elven voices to sputter and die at the unexpected interruption. He strode across the floor and through the arched doorways on to a balcony looking toward the Bruinen. His eyes gazed intently through the darkened sky toward the West. Elrond stayed on the balcony a very long time that night.


	5. Chapter 5 - To Rivendell or Bust

LOTR X-(wo)men Style**: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 5 – To Rivendell or Bust**

Aragorn fit the torch he held into a bracket on a support pillar and then slipped Narsil back into its scabbard. Bodies lay all around, though little sign of blood. Boots stomping, he swiftly extinguished the small fires apparently started by a torch dropped by one of the fallen on the stable's straw strewn floor.

"Sam, oh sweet, brave Sam," Frodo uttered crawling out of the stall to his fallen servant. Rolling his servant over, Frodo took in the clenched eyes and tight face. "How bad are you hurt?"

"Can't breath well," he wheezed in reply.

Frodo tugged up Sam's shirt, eliciting a sharp gasp, and saw a large foot shaped bruise already turning purple. "You've probably broken a few ribs. Try not to move. We'll bind you tight later. I'm going to check on Merry, he took a frightful knock to the head."

Frodo stumbled next to his other friend and touched his cheek. "Merry, Merry, wake up."

His eyes fluttered "Did ... did my pony run off?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry poppa. I shouldn't have tried to put on Tenderfoot's saddle myself."

"Merry, it's me, Frodo."

"Frodo? When did you get to Buckland?"

"Merry, we're in Bree. Me, you, Pippin, and Sam."

"Hunh? Is it second dinner time already?"

"Just let him rest Frodo, his hard hobbit head will clear up soon enough," said Aragorn while bent over examining the unconscious Rogue. "Go pull a spare shirt from your pack and use it to bind Sam's chest. We'll be a sorry looking bunch leaving Bree when the sun rises. Still … could have been much worse."

"Don't touch her Strider," interjected a new voice.

"I haven't so far, Storm. I'm keenly aware of the … risk."

"What happened to her?"

"She's been punched hard in the jaw by a mailed fist. If you come here and look, she had four puncture marks in her checks from the spiked knuckles. They should be cleaned and stitched up. Hopefully no bones or teeth are broken, but we shan't know till she wakes."

* * *

Gandalf had watched the Haradrim-like one nimbly drop off the roof and quickly consult with the Raptor before heading into the stable, purposefully leaving the red haired one alone. He'd stayed to guard the gate when the stable had been breached. The Son of Arathorn had been out of position at the time, but responded with his usual promptness allowing Gandalf to remain in the courtyard, just in case. The fragile seeming bird of prey had done well against the Ringwraiths, if not as prompt a responder as Aragorn. He knew something had happened behind him while he'd struggled with the Witch King, perhaps something important. Simply looking at Jean he could tell the fire within her had surged fiercely, but was cooling back to embers.

When he realized she saw him studying her, he began a slow shuffle in her direction. From the images she'd shared with him earlier, he knew he had to act slowly and deliberately with these unexpected allies, for his very visage struck visceral chords, for good reason apparently, in their collective psyches.

"You are unharmed?"

"Yes … no … yes. I, I don't know."

"Tell me if you can."

(_i heard them!_ [**images of black riders**])

(_ahhh._ _so did i child. it is not a pleasant experience, i grant you._)

(_i couldn't keep them out. i hid. i hid as far as i could and still their voices swallowed me up._)

(_yet you fought them. and helped drive them off._)

([**image of aragorn shouting and raising a hand to her**])

"Strider, he .. he focused me." Jean hung her head. "I was not gentle with him," she said in a remorseful voice.

Gandalf chuckled. "And even less gentle to the Ringwraiths. Come! We must check on our comrades. There is no need for shame. Aragorn will not hold this against you."

_(our mind speech talents are different, but not to so great an extent. the mind mute only feel the terror and evil projected. your particular talents, i think, are just different enough to allow them some amount of purchase. when we have time_ [**image of rivendell**]_, if you permit little bird, we can work together to find ways to stymie them._)

(_yes((no!))._)

* * *

"Jean, there you are. Do you think you can use a needle to stitch Rogue up? Her cheeks cut up bad."

"I'm pretty shaky Storm, I don't know."

"Oh give it here, I will," declared Gandalf.

"But .."

"Yes, yes, don't directly touch your skin to her skin. I'm perfectly able to hold the needle through a fold of my cloak. And I've a steady hand at tending wounds." Despite the scared look on the teenager's face, Gandalf swept in to tend the dubious patient before any could protest.

"Ouch! That stings."

"Of course it does. And you'll most likely bear honorable scars. And I scare you because I look exactly like that Magneto fellow. Now stop complaining."

"Has anyone seen Kitty," asked Aragorn to distract everyone's attention from their nervous watch of Gandalf's doctoring of Rogue.

"Here I am," came a faint reply from the street. A half bent over Kitty entered the stable through the Nazgul rendered hole in the wall.

"You look positively green!" declared Jean.

"One of them Black Riders ran right through me. Oh it was sooooo gross. I threw up."

Gandalf paused mid-stitch and looked deeply at Kitty. Her aura shown as strong and bright as the first time he _truely_ looked at her. Satisfied she didn't appear bewitched or ensnared in any obvious ensorcellment, he returned his attention to Rogue.

"I'd vomit too if one of those horrible things ran through me," stated Frodo.

"Mr. Frodo, I don't think there'd be anything left if one of those Black Riders went through any hobbit," rasped out the tightly wrapped Sam.

"And speaking of hobbits," asked Gandalf as he stepped back to survey his handiwork on Rogue, "How are Merry and Pippin? I see them resting comfortably."

"Hard heads, probably still sore come morning. Hopefully they'll be able to ride their ponies, when we get them back," asserted Aragorn with only the lightest tinge of doubt to his voice.

"Good. We shan't want to stay much past sun up and they certainly can't be left behind in Bree, too dangerous. The Black Riders would snatch them up for gruesome interrogation."

"Travelling with walking wounded is seldom wise," Storm stated.

"Normally I would agree," spoke Aragorn. "But it appears we've badly hurt the Nazguls. _ALL_ of us must move as far and as fast as we can before they recover their strength and begin hunting us again."

* * *

Ultimately, Barliman Butterbur needed very little convincing to accept remuneration for the indignities inflected on his establishment. He protested that he owed Gandalf favors and declared his solidarity in the struggle against "_that place better left unnamed"_. But at the first hint of resolve in the wizard's voice, the business man who knew to a copper the cost of the needed repairs, let alone could project the upcoming loss of income due to the Prancing Pony's undoubted notoriety from the previous night's events, responded with mock grumblings of "if you must, you must. I'll say no more on the matter. Your stays will always be free here at the Pony."

Rogue resented the loss of so much of the Barrow treasure assets in payment to Butterbur, regardless of whether it was readily fungible in whatever passed for Middle Earth's economy. As they lifted their packs to start marching out of Bree that morning, Storm viewed the loss of the treasure's weight happily in the event the ponies, despite Gandalf's reassurances, did not make a return appearance.

By the time the group humped out of the Inn, the whole of Bree was buzzing with excitement. Word had gotten round, as word always seems to do with trouble, that the party of hobbits, men, women, and wizards had been involved with the black horseman in the night's terrifying kerfuffle. Most of the inhabitants of Bree, and even those of the surrounding hamlets, crowded the Road to witness the travelers start. Not all the faces they saw were friendly, nor all the words shouted at them. Still, the tall Ranger and the grey clad wizard were familiar enough commodities in town people knew to only go so far and not cross an unwritten line in their heckling. As they drew near the southeastern gate and a last ill-kept house, they saw none other than the treacherous Bill Ferny, who's only demonstration at them was to curl his mouth in a sneer around his pipe.

At last they left the village behind. The escort of curious onlookers that had accompanied them finally grew tired and turned back to the gate after no more than a few furlongs. When the Road turned and began to run downwards toward woods, Gandalf, in the lead, pulled to a stop. Aragorn, Storm, and Jean all pulled out water to share with the three injured, walking hobbits. Kitty helped Rogue to sit on a flat rock just off the Road. Frodo watched Gandalf as the wizard sniffed at the air and held up a finger to test the direction of the wind. Finally appearing satisfied, Gandalf raised two fingers to his mouth, drew in a particularly large breath of air, and whistled.

Gandalf turned to return the looks being given him by his nine companions. A large smile split through his beard and in a happy voice he simply declared, "Now we wait."

* * *

Storm looked at her watch for the third time in the half hour since Gandalf's whistle. The party had all slipped off their packs and taken seats on the ground by the side of the Road. Gandalf and Strider casually smoked pipes. Frodo, Merry, and Pippin made a game of tossing pebbles into a small puddle made by the last night's localized rain shower. Sam's ribs ached enough he choose not to participate and laid back with his head on a pack staring up at the early October sky.

"The more often you look, the longer it will take for the ponies to get here. It's a well known rule of physics," said Kitty.

"Really? I don't recall seeing you enrolled in Scott's class. Where did you come across this theorem?"

"Dr. Who. It's a temporal physics equation. Very complex. I wouldn't at all be surprised if Scott doesn't cover it."

Rogue snickered.

"I can't say I'm happy about your injury Rogue, but I may be glad that at least for the time being the two of you can't verbally tag team me."

"By the way, how's the pain level," inquired Jean.

Rogue frowned. "Tylenol'd be nice. Mouf ok. Wurst bit tong an hipped toof. 'ey, wat 'e do?" Rogue pointed over at Strider. He was leaning forward, stooped to the ground, with a hand to his ear. He stood up with a grin on his face.

The light clippety-clippety-clip sound of hoofs soon broke through the chirping of nearby birds and insects. Everyone now stood and watched the woods to the north with anxious eyes. From between trees first came Gandalf's strong silver stallion, followed after brief pauses by one .. two .. three .. four .. and finally a fifth pony.

Shadowfax came straight to Gandalf and rubbed his neck against him. "Well done my friend," spoke the wizard, stroking the horse's flank. "Now my injured hobbit friends will have a less burdensome journey before them. Sam, Pippin, and Merry choose a pony and attach your packs. But before you mount, come and say goodbye, for this is where we must part for a while."

"WHAT!" shouted the hobbits and mutants both.

"We've just found you Gandalf. You can't leave us!" burst out Frodo.

"I'm not leaving _you_, Frodo. You will ride with me on Shadowfax to Rivendell."

"I can't .."

"You must Frodo," interrupted Gandalf. "I know these are your friends, both old and new, and you do not wish to part from them. But _you_, _only you_, carry the burden the Black Riders seek. Despite our victory last night, they still present a terrible danger ahead. With the Ringwraiths at least partially broken and lacking a full set of mounts, the safest way for you to reach Rivendell is a race with me on Shadowfax before they can regroup."

"Gandalf speaks wisely," added Aragorn. "On the Road, with only Gandalf not on foot or pony, the journey from Bree to Rivendell is close to a fortnight. On the Road we are readily spied and open to surprise attacks. We are strong," and he nodded toward the women, "but the initiative would likely be theirs."

"Well how long would it take you to get Mr. Frodo to the elves?" asked Sam.

"Seven or eight days."

"And would you come back to help us?" inquired Merry.

"I or elves able to ride against the Nazguls," answered Gandalf.

"So what do _we_ do?" posed Storm with an extremely grim look on her face.

"_We_ take to the unbeaten path. I know this country well and will guide us away from where any Black Riders would think to look. We will take trails accessible to foot and pony, but not to chargers," stated Aragorn. "You hardly know me, though we fought together. I will experience the same perils as you."

"You planned this!" accused Frodo.

"No my boy, we did not."

"Gandalf never spoke me. He didn't need to. This is the obvious course. And with us out of Bree, no spies to report on our change of course."

"Damn, it does make some sense," uttered Jean. She saw Storm look at her inquiringly. "Yes, I believe we can trust both Gandalf and Strider."

The two men chuckled lightly at her assertion.

"Stop laughing," Jean petulantly declared. "Just because we agree doesn't mean we like it. Not even a tiny bit."

* * *

Within a mile, the three hobbits, four mutants, and one Ranger came on a narrow track that led off towards the north. Strider's words, "This is where we leave the open and take to cover," broke through everyone's memories of their parting from Frodo and Gandalf. The hobbits had hugged both Frodo and the wizard. The ladies only Frodo. Gandalf's last words before Shadowfax kicked into a trot were, "Remember to look for my sign at the Bridge of Mitheithel."

Aragorn looked up and down the Road. No one was in sight, and he led the way quickly down towards a wooded valley. He explained that they would make their way first through Chetwood and then across the Midgewater marsh. After the exclamations about there better not being many bugs still out in the swamp, he continued on to say that the Weather Hills were the next goal and from there cross country to the Mitheithel River and hopefully an escort of some kind.

Aragorn confidently took them on a wandering course of many turns and paths to confuse any attempt at being tracked. If not for the danger and the effects of the previous night's combat, the day's journey would have been pleasant. The sun shone, the leaves in the forest were turning color, the temperature was neither too warm nor too cold for hiking.

They saw no sign of pursuit the first day, nor the second, as they exited the Chetwood near dusk. The start of the third day brought them on to a wide expanse of land, flat, but nevertheless much more difficult to navigate through than woodland paths. Before the day ended they had entered the marsh. The bogs, pools of water, and swathes of reeds in deep mud were treacherous to their footing. The lack of any permanent trails through the unfortunately fly and midge infested country slowed them down, but Strider led them unerringly forward anyway. The evening's camp was still more miserable, even the ponies seemed irritated at biting insects. The hobbits didn't realize it themselves, but both Aragorn and Storm had noted that their little friends complained less and less of the physical exertions demanded of them to lead their ponies through the swampland. Their injuries were healing.

Rogue, with the resilience of youth, healed quickly too. The swelling of face, mouth, and tongue were mostly gone, though her left eye still carried quite the shiner. However the affects of day after day of a rough cross country journey in chilly autumn weather, with no recourse to the pampering comforts of middle class America, left her, and her fellow teenager Kitty, extremely irritable. The wet, the cold, the monotonous food, the constant minor abrasions, the absence of sanitation, the onset of her cycle, the lack of privacy – it all simply made her WANT TO SCREAM! Even the natural equanimity of the hobbits' dispositions turned to the occasional eye rolling at the semi daily crying jags of the two young ladies.

Half way through the fourth day's march and with the regularly schedule afternoon cry approaching, Storm came to a sudden halt, causing the ponies in line behind her to rein in quickly and bunch up together.

Aragorn, who'd come to recognize Storm's usefulness in the wild, turned and asked, "What is it? We're almost out of the Midgewater. Is there something ahead?"

Storm didn't respond. She simply kept staring to the East.

"Jean?"

"I'll scan ahead."

"No, not ahead, exactly …" whispered Storm finally. "Past the southern end of those far off hills."

"Weathertop," stated Aragorn.

"I feel something in the air."

"Is someone manipulating the weather?" asked Kitty.

"Noooooo. Unusual updrafts, like the air is being heated by something close to the ground, like a wildfire. It doesn't taste normal though. Jean, do you have the range to listen for Gandalf over there."

The red head briefly scrunched her face, "I suppose I could try." She cleared her mind of extraneous thoughts and stimulations and slid her telepathy to its widest ranged and lowest powered passive reception mode.

( _join us_)

( _The Ring!_)

(_serve The Master!_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_The Ring!_)

After a minute, Jean came back to herself and spoke in a whisper. "It's not Gandalf."

* * *

Frodo ached. His skull throbbed. His teeth felt about to fall from their roots. His forearms were as tight as steel. His fingers and knuckles puffed into sausages from unending clenching. His thighs and calves burned and burned more where they chaffed. But the worst, the absolute worst, was his bottom. Like any rambunctious hobbit child, Frodo had done his fair share of mischief and received a sound thrashing as a consequence. Many a time he and his boyhood friends had joked that so and so needed a pillow to sit after a particularly harsh disciplining. What Frodo wouldn't give for a pillow to sit on now. Riding a horse was a Big Person insanity he no longer had any interest in ever trying again.

Admittedly, the first half day riding on Shadowfax in front of Gandalf had been a marvel. Shadowfax at a trot seemed faster than any pony Frodo had ever raced. The leagues whirled by and new scenery came on so fast, he quickly forgot the anxiety he felt at leaving his friends behind. Gandalf did take the time to thoroughly question and re-question Frodo on each step of his journey. The greatest minutia of details, many Frodo had not remembered till teased and prodded out by the wizard, he provided related to the four ladies. When Gandalf had finally stopped so they could call on nature, Frodo immediately noticed the stiffness in his legs upon being set on the ground. He'd hobbled off cheerfully enough to take care of his business, but upon returning Gandalf noticed his friend's discomfort and placed a folded blanket for him to rest upon. "Shadowfax will take no saddle or reins, but I think he might tolerate something small to cushion a hobbit's end." Frodo's sleep the first night away from Bree was one of exhaustion in a small ravine a mile off the Road.

Frodo awoke the next morning stiff as a board. He didn't notice the severe chaffing on his legs till that afternoon. They stopped before dusk that day to leave enough light for Gandalf to search for various plants and herbs with which to make a poultice for Frodo. The third morning found Frodo stiffer than a board and Gandalf spent some time massaging the hobbit before plunking him back on Shadowfax. Gandalf's mercies did not extend to slowing the silver horse's pace and by noon time the conical shape of Weathertop came into clear view. As the Road passed closer and closer to the foot of Weathertop, Gandalf shifted his gaze more and more toward the slightly flattened summit.

Finally, Gandalf pressed his heels in and brought Shadowfax to a stop. "I think we shall chance it Frodo."

"Chance what?"

"A ride to the top."

"Why?"

"Why to see what can be seen of course. On our passage I have noted here and there the odd recent hoof print, but no true sign of the Ringwraiths. Perhaps from up the sloop we can espy whether we are actually pursued of not?"

"Then what is the chance?"

"They may be waiting for us above in ambush. The heights of Weathertop command a long sight of the Road. Even a fool would know to watch for us here and could guess we would want a taste of the vantage point too. Well, can't be helped. Ready yourself Frodo, the ride is about to get a tad bumpy."

Gandalf's beard tickled the top of Frodo's head several times in the next half hour as he leaned forward to maintain his balance as Shadowfax swept up the slope. Frodo's puffed fingers held tighter than normal to silvery mane.

On a brief flat strip in the trail about halfway up the south face of Weathertop, Gandalf brought Shadowfax to a rest. "Ahh, our enemies finally reveal themselves." Frodo followed the direction Gandalf pointed his staff and saw two Black Riders come out of a gully several hundred yards higher up. Frodo felt the wizard loosen Glamdring, but the Nazguls broke to the East and started pushing their chargers down the large hill at an angle toward the Road.

"A race!" exclaimed Gandalf, digging heels into Shadowfax to start him moving again.

"There aren't any more hiding back there to surprise us are there?" shouted Frodo.

"Clever fellow," yelled back Gandalf over the raising sound of hoof beats. The grey clad wizard did pivot his head for a half a minute back at the gully entrance to confirm the lack of a second, surprise pursuit.

Going downhill, at speed, was an understatement to the words 'jarring' and 'bone rattling.' Frodo ached ... a lot! If he would have dared turned to look up at his friend, he would have seen a near predatory grin on Gandalf's face. Shadowfax, to the west of the Black Riders, hit the Road first and headed east at a full gallop.

"Oh my poor arse," moaned Frodo.

Gandalf's eyes never left the angle at which the Nazguls directed their approach to the Road. They'd taken a cleaner, straighter path down Weathertop and were now whipping their mounts to their fastest speed to block the Road east before Shadowfax arrived. A minute later Gandalf laughed and shouted "Too late! Go back to your Master and tell him you failed!"

As Shadowfax passed the spot where the Black Riders would join the Road a hundred feet in front of them, one, in rage, launched a destructive spell from the back of his lathered mount at the accursed wizard.

"Ha!" shouted a triumphant Gandalf as the poorly aimed attack flew past them.

* * *

Camp the third night, yet again fireless, wasn't made till near midnight as Gandalf pushed them hard to stay far in front of any pursuit. This time Shadowfax carried them miles to the south of the Road before a suitable site presented itself. Frodo hurt so much, Gandalf had to carry him to the moss and leaf lined bedding the wizard had put together for the hobbit. After a change of poultice, a quick meal, and a brief massage, Frodo promptly drifted off into troubled dreams. Gandalf sucked on the end of his unlit pipe and contemplated the day's chase.

"Nine Nazguls. Six attack Bree. At least three horses lost. Two Ringwraiths hurt sore enough to require succor. Seven left. At best six are mobile. Two wait at Weathertop, foolishly attacking in day light, then ruin their mounts for at least a day chasing the mightiest of the Mearas. Curious."

Trusting Shadowfax to give alert, Gandalf allowed his body brief rests when his mind took respites from churning the probabilities of the next day's actions.

* * *

"Awaken Frodo, awaken. False dawn breaks and we must break our rest with it."

"Must we?" croaked Frodo.

"Yes. Today's journey will see us past the last chance of interception by the minions of Mordor." Another cold breakfast and quick visit to nature saw Gandalf lifting Frodo on to Shadowfax again. The horse, seeming to take pity on the sore hobbit, started the day with a lazy jog trot.

True dawn found them returning to the Road and with it Shadowfax's pace increased to an extended trot. Frodo groaned and ground his teeth to hide the agony of over tight stretched muscles returned to painful jostling.

A few miles brought them to the entrance of a boulder strewn landscape on the Road. Shadowfax slowed his pace, to Frodo's relief, and Gandalf's eyes roamed like a hawk looking for traps. Three furlongs brought them round a rising curve and within sight of the end of the rocky setting just another furlong away. With a small sigh of relief, Gandalf encouraged Shadowfax to pick up speed.

Suddenly Shadowfax stumbled hard, throwing Frodo and rocking Gandalf as thighs strained to keep him mounted. A thin rope, tied to the stump of a tree on the north edge and crossing the Road under a layer of dust, had been pulled taut to the level of the silver horse's front fetlocks. Amazingly the Mearas chief felt the oncoming danger and avoided an outright fall, little would that knowledge have cheered Frodo, who lay stunned upon losing his seat and striking the ground.

A Ringwraith with a sword stormed out of hiding from the south edge, heading for the inert hobbit. Luckily, at least in this particular, Frodo had fallen off Shadowfax in the opposite direction, forcing the Nazgul to negotiate around the large body of the horse. The moments this granted allowed Gandalf to somewhat right himself and draw Glamdring. Gandalf swung at the creature passing behind him, causing it to duck, but permitting it to continue moving forward. Gandalf's torso twisted and his sword came back around in the other direction at the Nazgul, which again ducked the swing, but then swung at Gandalf's outstretched sword. The crash of the blades and the momentum of Gandalf's swing tumbled Glamdring out of the wizard's hand.

Disaster loomed. The Ringwraith paused a fraction of a second to decide whether to finish off the wizard or continue on at the stunned hobbit. Such a fraction was all Gandalf needed to regain his composure, for he carried another weapon in his other hand, his staff. Desperate, the Istari did not take time to summon power through the staff, instead he extended his left arm causing the staff to thump the Nazgul in his solar plexus. The violence of the blow lifted it off its feet to join Frodo in the dust of the Road.

Gandalf slid off Shadowfax back and confronted Sauron's servant as it staggered to its feet, swordless. One swing, two swings, three swings of the staff drove it back from Frodo. Frustrated, the vile being yanked a Mogul blade from its belt. Outraged, Gandalf stopped swinging the staff and drew himself upright. Energy immediately coursed through him, his staff and his very body began to glow the pure light of Valinor. Revealing his glory in the light of day overmatched the Ringwraith. It twisted in fear and fled, praying to its Master not to be struck down by the Istari's fury.

Showing either mercy or concern for his friend, Gandalf let the wretched creature go and returned to Frodo to check him over for injury.

* * *

"What happened?" Frodo asked in a low voice.

"We were cleverly ambushed and you fell off Shadowfax."

"I .. I can't see."

"I fear you broke your nose when you fell. I've tied a wet clothe over your face to help with the swelling. Now, is that better?"

"Uhm, a little. I hurt every … wait. Where are we?"

"When I discovered you weren't sorely hurt."

"ha."

"I placed you back on Shadowfax and held you till we came to a more salubrious environment. And this pond, not far from the Road, seemed such a spot."

* * *

'Noooooo,' the creature thought. 'They are getting ready to move too soon. Darkness is still far off. That nag will pass them behind any hope of pursuit.'

The actual ambush spot was perfect. Far enough from the distraction of the rock field attack site to offer a hint of safety, with water and other _beauty_ to lull the senses of the weak. But _that Istari_ had a truly awesome mount, and its speed had ruined the Witch King's plans. At least in the last hour he and his two brothers had been able to very slowly shift positions, unnoticed, to place the hobbit and the wizard in the middle of a triangle of Ringwraiths. The fight would have to come under the light of day.

(k_hamul, the time comes. we strike on my mark_)

(fornur, prepare)

(now!)

Three black figures sprang from the tall, unharvested grass beside the tiny mere. Guttural chants swept into the air. Gandalf leapt up and Shadowfax's neighed loudly in response. Lines of green and black power erupted between the three figures, connecting them, forming a triangular flaming boundary to trap Gandalf and Frodo. Within seconds, the grasses started to smolder and caught fire.

* * *

Elrond stopped peering out the window of his private library and turned back to his desk. He picked up a small bell and rang it lightly several times. He debated returning to the window, but knew it would serve no purpose. Instead he walked to the map wall and started pulling scrolls off the shelves.

The door opened and Erestor entered the study. "Yes, Elrond?"

"Mithrandir reveals himself. Most like not for the first time in this waxing moon phase. Before I suspected, but other, odd emanations clouded my sight. Now I am certain. He matches strength with Nazguls."

"Right now? In daylight?"

"Mithrandir could be injured. Perhaps he accompanies Bilbo's heir and the hobbit truly carries Isildur's Bane? The lure of that metal band might drive even the Witch King to desperate acts of madness."

"What course shall we set?"

"Find Glorfindel, Celethir, Neralad, and Amdhros. Send them to me."

Erestor bowed his head and left. Elrond began opening scrolls. Looking for one that detailed the lands from the Mitheithel to the Weather Hills.

* * *

After allowing Jean a few minutes to gather herself, the party restarted its plodding journey. Ninety minutes later the ground became noticeably firmer, leaving the stagnant pools and reed-beds of the Midgewater marsh behind. Ahead the terrain slowly rose toward a line of hills, the tallest being the southmost and a little separated from the others.

Storm, picking up her friend's continuing depressed body language, asked, "Penny for your thoughts."

Jean sighed, stopped walking and looked directly at Storm. "I'm a thirty four year old Doctor of Evolutionary Biology who teaches middle and high school level biology at a prestigious private school for homo superiors located in upscale Westchester County. I'm currently stuck like Alice on a field trip gone incredibly awry in a dystopian medieval wonderland where I can't seem to block the mental voices of undead homicidal psychopaths with a penchant for world domination from my head. Oh, and I'm PMSing! So … I'm pretty pissed! But I think I'm putting a good face on it! How 'bout you?!"

Storm staring Jean straight back in her eyes, with a grin, responded, "Aside from the lack of PMSing, not bad."

The two friends continued staring at each other for five seconds and then both broke into peels of laughter. The rest of the party paused to look at the giggling women. Aragorn viewed them with annoyance at their excessive noise. The three hobbits exuded an interest in getting in on a good joke. The teenage girls struck a tone of petulance that anyone was having fun in this backwater sh*thole.

As they resumed the hike, Jean admitted, "After three days of nothing but talk, talk, talk to entertain and distract me, I'm talked out. Aragorn's litany of botanical knowledge, despite my interest in biology, surpasses my ability to feign interest past an hour's discussion."

"Hey, don't mock his knowledge. When we finally conveyed Rogue's monthly need through his male-centric obliviousness, he rounded up enough 'lady's peat' in an hour to last us, hopefully, to the more civilized Rivendell."

"I feel for Rogue, but yuck, I know I'm not looking forward to using it. Dunedain women must be tough chicks, even if they don't travel near as much as the men. At least he didn't bat an eye once he understood the request. Can you imagine having to ask Logan to go find us some 'lady's peat' on a hike through the woods?"

Laughter rocked both women again, drawing further looks.

"Aragorn's a fabulous source of knowledge on all of Middle Earth," added Storm when their conversation picked back up. "His summary of the overall geopolitical situation was quite detailed. Good to know where the bad guys are, where the four major concentrations of elves are, and which humans are white hats, more or less. Not nearly so fun getting a feudal recitation on twenty generations of every major player's genealogy. Eye glazing."

"I did enjoy our discussion on comparative governments. The hobbits got democracy. Aragorn looked pretty dubious."

"The artistocratic noblesse oblige thing seems pretty heavily bred into him and his Dunedain."

Jean chuckled, "Have to admit he's open minded. When Kitty started flinging Locke and 'consent of the governed' at him, you could tell he thought deeply about it."

"And what did Ms. PHD in Genetics make of the low down on Black Riders and those orc things being light averse, and big mean Trolls literally petrifying in the sun?"

"Has to be some sort of hyper sensitivity to ultraviolet radiation. Is that why the Nazguls wear black, to absorb light away from their invisible skin? Do the Trolls petrify because the ultraviolet triggers some sort of phototoxicity on steroids in their skin as a side effect of their DNA allowing them to grow so large?"

"Bet Hank could build a killer weapon against them with a CIS blacklight wand?"

"Or a suntan booth. Wonder what they'd make of his blue fur," laughed Jean.

"Scott would make them pee their pants with his optic blasts."

"Yeah, Scott would …" Jean's face went blank. "I miss Scott."

* * *

"Frodo, stay close!" yelled Gandalf. "It appears they are trying to smoke us out." The fire that had broken out within the triangle created by the Ringwraiths moved purposefully toward them.

The wizard reversed his staff, pointing it at the ground. The words "_Naur an edraith amen, Naur an edraith amen_" chanted out of his mouth as he ran in a circle around Frodo and Shadowfax. Blue-green flame shot forth from the staff. When Gandalf completed the run, they stood inside a circle of flame.

Gandalf stood tall, raising the staff above his head. "_Noro lim, Noro lim, naur!_"

Frodo watched as Gandalf's flames increased in size and started to spread outward at an even pace. A minute later, the two sets of flames ran into each other. Frodo clutched the wizard's leg while the two conflagrations battled for dominance over each other.

Gandalf coughed at the heavy smoke hanging over them. "Put that wet rag over your nose and mouth Frodo. My fire will burn theirs out. I am stronger than they. But we could still expire from the heat and soot filled air."

Shadowfax stomped at the ground in fear and anger. Gandalf turned to comfort his other friend. Slowly, Gandalf's blaze, as promised, began to push forward again, smothering the Nazguls' flames. But that was not the only battle being waged.

(_join us_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_serve The Master!_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_release your burden_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_prove your worth_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_rule with us_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_The Ring!_)

(_The Ring!_)

Frodo's hand crept toward the necklace hanging under his shirt. A cold, tingling sensation spread from the pit of his stomach. His face broke out in sweat and he grew faint. Suddenly a strong arm lifted him off the ground and he buried his face in Gandalf's beard. As tears trickled down Frodo's face, the sound of his friend's voice saying, "Your safe, your safe," drove the unnatural ill feelings from him.

When the ground became cool enough for the three to return to the Road, the Nazguls had long since fled. Gandalf and Frodo mounted Shadowfax, and continued travelling East, toward Rivendell.


	6. Chapter 6 - Fire at the Mitheithel

LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 6 – Fire at the Mitheithel

The four elves finished tying the last gear to their stallions and led them out the eastern stables. Sunlight reflected off the Bruinen in the distance, but the height of the Misty Mountains yet blocked Rivendell from Anor's first rays of the day. Stopping briefly, each warrior made a last check of his weaponry, then Glorfindel initiated the group's mounting by climbing atop faithful Asfaloth. Once all were comfortably purchased, the four horsemen of the Last Homely House started a slow trot toward the entrance of the Ford road.

Watching from a window in his private library, Elrond heard the gentle ringing of bells accompanying the clip-clop of the hoofs as the mighty First Born Elf-lords passed beneath him. None looked up in acknowledgement of his presence. All discussions of terrain, scouting strategy, and preparation had been thoroughly covered the prior evening. As they edged out of sight, the Master of Rivendell pondered whether Glorfindel's prophecy of the Witch King not dying by the hand of man would soon come into play.

* * *

"Where to today?" asked Storm, striding next to the Ranger at the head of their small party through early morning mist.

"I think," answered Aragorn slowly, "we make for the line of hills, not Weathertop. I know a path that runs at their feet. It is well concealed from observation."

"From Weathertop?"

Aragorn nodded. "If the Black Riders have lost track of Gandalf and Frodo, they might return to search for us. And for that they would certainly use the height of Weathertop to aid the search."

"Shouldn't we then cross to the north side of the hills? We can cut back south as the time draws nearer to when we might expect any aid sent by Gandalf."

"A sound plan, though the hills will end before we would seek any assistance. They run more north and south, than east toward the Mitheithel. I know a cut we can take on today's march to head north away from Weathertop."

As the hills drew nearer, the group saw along their crests the remains of walls and the ruins of other works of stone. Eventually they came upon an obvious track, which Aragorn led them onto. The track was exactly as the Ranger had described it to his mutant companion. It dropped through hollows and basins. It curved along the slopes of dried stream banks. Where it passed over flat ground it did so among boulders and tall shrubs which acted almost like hedges.

Walking across a portion of the trail containing actual pave stones, Merry wondered, "Who made this path? And all these ruins, it makes me think of the Barrow Downs. Say Strider, are there any barrows here?"

"No. These ruins are defenses built by the Kings of Westernesse to defend against Angmar. This path was made to serve the forts built into the walls. Weathertop itself once held a great watch tower, now only a tumbled ring now. The Witch King, when he ruled Angmar, saw to that. Supposedly Elendil waited there, when it was fair and tall, for the coming of Gil-galad in the days of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves."

"Who was Gil-galad again?" asked Rogue, remembering the name from the hodgepodge of Middle Earth lore she'd been hearing during their daily treks.

"_Gil-galad was an him the harpers sadly sing: …"_

Everyone turned in amazement to stare at Sam.

"_But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star, in Mordor where the shadows are."_

"Don't stop," yelped Pippin.

"That's all I learnt from Mr. Bilbo. I loved sitting by his knee as a lad, listening to anything he told about Elves. That one he had wrote out."

"He must have translated it from Sindarin. It is part of the lay of 'The Fall of Gil-galad'."

"He died fighting Sauron, didn't he," asked Jean.

"Do not say that name," responded Aragorn sternly, spoiling the moment's pleasure.

The party stayed mostly quiet the next hour, till they came to the cut through the hills to the north. But in that time each of the group used his or her imagination to wonder how alive this land must have appeared in that bygone age of heroes.

* * *

Shadowfax crested a small rise in the early morning on their sixth day out of Bree and pulled to a stop before a short steep slope in the Road. Gandalf tapped Frodo to gain his attention.

"There lays the Last Bridge. We have come to the Mitheithel. Also known as the Hoarwell or the Greyflood in the tongues of men and hobbits."

Frodo's gazed snapped up to stare at the bridge ahead; thankfully no dreaded black figures waited to contest the crossing. As their pause in front of the bridge lengthened, the hobbit realized Gandalf too felt concern and was intently scanning the area for tricks, traps, and other signs of the enemy. In due course, Shadowfax started down the slope to the bridge and Gandalf placed a hand on Glamdring.

Half way across, Frodo, through the corner of his eye, saw Gandalf throw something. He turned and lifted his head up at the wizard with a questioning look.

"A jeweled marker to let Aragorn, should it come to that, know we have passed here. For us, safety and Rivendell are not far off. I hope with all my heart that our friends find it too."

* * *

If they could have seen it through the hills they hiked, they'd have known they'd passed to the east of Weathertop by the sun's zenith. The cut to the north the group had taken the day before had proven effective in hiding them from the eyes of the enemy, be it Nazgul, bird, beast, or other foul creature. Aragorn knew the status of their position, but felt no urge to share the information. In fact he currently felt no urge to talk about anything at all.

The morning had started pleasantly. They'd spent the previous night snug in a well provisioned Ranger bolt hole. A solid night's sleep did wonders for everyone's temperament and outlook. Even the two girls seemed to be pulling out of their despondent moods, asking penetrating questions and paying attention to their surroundings. Finally, they penetrated too far. They'd asked about Eru. Well not Eru, for they'd never heard about the creator! They inquired about 'religion' in Middle Earth.

Aragorn and the hobbits didn't know which was worse, their complete absence of any knowledge of the existence of Eru or the fact they came from a world where anyone could believe in any god they chose, whom they wrapped up and defined in complex, contradictory codas of spiritual rules overseen by a judicial bureaucracy that frequently denied the validity of any interpretation of god's will other than their own. Aragorn had kept his temper at what he'd been able to overhear, though the girls' blasé attitude about God, Eru, 'religion' turned his stomach, while the three hobbits had grown verbally irate.

Storm and Jean had finally intervened. They'd drawn comparisons between Eru and God. Between Angels and Ainur. Between the Imperishable Flame and the Holy Spirit. Between Satan and Melkor-Morgoth. Beween the Drowning of Numenor and the Flood and the Ark. The women were smart and emphasized the parallels, though Aragorn had noted several areas they'd steered well clear of, like this son of God Christ person, even if resurrection was not an act unfamiliar to Arda.

The riled tempers of the hobbits had cooled. Pippin hurt. Merry perplexed. Sam betrayed. But a bad taste was left in everyone's mouths. The last words spoken that morning had been Jean's, "This is why our world has a saying, 'don't talk about religion or politics in polite company.'"

They were also the last words spoken until the making of camp that night.

* * *

Shadowfax slowed.

_(what is it my brother?_)

(_horses._)

(_black ones?_)

(_no. they carry light._)

Suddenly four horses came into view, trotting swiftly. The lead rider's cloak streamed behind him, hood thrown back from his elven head, golden hair shimmering in the wind. Shadowfax sprang forward at Gandalf's prompting, the movement attracting the elf's attention. With a cry, he spurred his mighty white horse ahead even faster. Frodo heard a clear ringing voice shout out, "_Ai na vedui Mithrandir! Mae govannen!_"

As Shadowfax pulled to a stop beside the lead newcomer, Gandalf whispered in Frodo's ear, "This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the halls of Rivendell. As well as the mighty lords Celethir, Neralad, and Amdhros." Then in a louder voice, spoke in Westron so Frodo could understand, "Hail and well met my friends. What news have you and why are you about?"

"We were sent by Elrond to look for you and any hobbit companion you might have. He expected you sooner, then, when he felt danger on the Road, he sent us to scout for you. Well met indeed."

"The eyes of the Master of Rivendell see far, but perhaps not far enough."

Glorfindel's eyes squinted a bit at the wizard's comment. "I sense our task is not complete."

"Yes. To place my Halfling friend and the burden he carries beyond the reach of the Nazguls, I left _The Dunedain_ behind with a small party of hobbits and not quite Edain, yet not Quendi either, women."

Glorfindel's eyebrows rose. "Not-Edain, yet not-Quendi, women? That is a tale and a riddle both."

"They are undoubtedly daughters of man, but not children of Arda, brought here in a mystery. Yet their souls shine with an echo of the brilliance of the Imperishable Flame. They tap the _Flame_ in unusual and powerful ways; and, have done so to save Frodo here, and his friends, from a Barrow-wight, as well as assisted me against part of the Nine. If they fell under the sway of the Dark Lord, they would make a terrible foe."

"Enough, Mithrandir. _The Dunedain_ alone in the wild against the Nine, and particularly _Him_, would drive me to Aragorn's assistance. We will ride past the Mitheithel in search of this enigma he accompanies. Ride in safety to the Bruinen. We came across no hint of Nazgul taint on our journey. Farewell Frodo, heir of Bilbo. Enjoy the comforts of the Last Homely House. We will bring your friends to you."

The two groups broke apart, each setting off in an opposite direction on the Road.

* * *

Small talk accompanied the making of food over a small fire and the settling down of bedding. Kitty and Rogue walked on egg shells around Sam, Merry, and Pippin. They were still mortified that their blunder that morning had turned the sweet, friendly hobbits' view of them into something akin to lepers. If mutants couldn't fit into a world with elves, dwarves, hobbits, and angelic beings walking the earth, then where, they worried in the manner of over-analytical teenagers, would the two of them ever feel secure as themselves?

Storm and Jean took the more adult approach of going about their business and relying on their good deeds to overcome any culture shock. Once everyone settled in for the night, Storm took first watch with Aragorn and they spent the time discussing how Storm's moon was both similar in size and color, but different in features, to the one waxing above over Middle Earth.

Jean fell quickly asleep, till awaking to a tremoring body, her own body, well before her turn on watch.

_(fear)_

_(anger)_

_(appease The Master!)_

_(find the new ones)_

_(gifts)_

_(fear The Master!)_

_(pain)_

_(loathing)_

_(The Master!)_

_(serve The Master!)_

_(gifts)_

* * *

Amdhros, leading the party of four elves that morning, their third out of Rivendell, reined his horse to a stop on the Bridge of the Mitheithel. Glorfindel rode over on Asfaloth to discover the cause of the halt.

"Mithrandir left a sign," said Andhros, pointing at a grey moonstone lying in the dust of the bridge span. "Presumably for the Dunedain."

"Then we will do like-wise," stated Glorfindel. Each elf reached into a pouch on his cloak or belt and pulled out a jewel. Glorfindel dropped a pale green beryl and nudged his mighty white mount back into motion. The others dropped jewels too and followed off the bridge toward the west.

* * *

The solemn grumpiness of the previous day chaffed at Pippin's naturally extroverted personality. The youngest of the three hobbits enjoyed the relationship of playful banter, teasing, and pranks he had developed with his teenage companions over the last week. Yesterday had been B – O – R – I – N – G! This morning's camp chore for Pippin was boiling up the porridge. While returning with the pail of water, Pippin 'tripped' and accidentally spilled some on Kitty. With the pail set over the fire to boil, when Rogue kneeled nearby to warm her hands, Pippin made a great show of adjusting the strength of the fire and blew wafts of smoke right at her face. After giving the stewing porridge a particularly vigorous stir, he removed the long spoon with a quick snap of his wrist and happened to spray a line of partially cooked oats down Rogue's cloak. Pippin's last 'accident' of the morning came when he mishandled the passing of a bowl of porridge into Kitty's lap.

As Pippin 'helped' clean up the resulting mess, Kitty leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Oh game on little man, game on."

Pippin smiled, the new day was looking better already.

* * *

Glorfindel rolled out of his cloak in the predawn light. Neralad sat leaning against a nearby Elm tree on watch. Glorfindel reached into a pocket, broke off a small piece of lembas from his roll, and then placed it in his mouth. The chill of the October early morning air did not bother him, though he saw breath coming from the muzzles of their mounts. He stood, picked up a container of oats and placed it in a feed bag. He then walked over to Asfaloth and began feeding the mighty stallion. Celethir and Amdhros came awake and stretched. Neralad stood and started tending to his horse too.

As the four readied their mounts and the sun broke over the horizon, Glorfindel announced, "We separate. Amdhros south. Neralad southwest, Celethir north, myself northwest." No more words were spoken. These First Born, mighty in war, clever in forest craft, swift in deeds, and wise in thought, needed no instructions.

* * *

On October the Ninth in the year Three Thousand Eighteen of the Third Age, the eighth day since he left Bree, Frodo crossed over the Bruinen Ford in the company of Gandalf the Grey and finally arrived at Rivendell. For the twelve years Frodo lived with his guardian Bilbo, he'd heard tale after amazing tale of the wonders and beauty of the Last Homely House. His vivid hobbit imagination had painted a picture in his mind of spiraling towers, sweeping archways, brilliantly colored stonework, detailed statuary, luscious gardens, delicate bas-reliefs hallways filled with elegant Elves singing songs of the deepest beauty. It all paled in comparison to the true vision.

Shadowfax came to a stop in front of the main hall, and Frodo and Gandalf dismounted. Two mismatched figures stood, well one stood and the other hopped back and forth tween bare, hairy feet, on rose colored marble waiting for them. The loftier, unmoving one, an elf, was taller than Gandalf. His face was ageless, set below dark hair upon which sat a circlet of silver. His eyes were clear, bright grey and declared they had seen many things, both terrible and joyous. His frame, while slender, projected the strength of a tried warrior. This was Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell and mighty among both Elves and Men.

The other, much slighter figure, despite any release purchased by the hopping, could no longer contain himself, "Frodo my lad! So you have got here at last!" he shouted.

Frodo's toothy smile threatened to break his mouth. "Bilbo!" he cried back in utter delight.

The two hobbits grabbed arms and spun round and round in a frenzy of happy release till they fell down from dizziness, the elation felt at this reunion never leaving their faces.

* * *

"I don't think I have any blisters so far today," announced Rogue with a sense of smug satisfaction.

"I had to tighten my belt this morning," declared Sam. "All this outdoor air and exercise is starting to make a good deal less of me."

"Says the hobbit riding a pony," interjected Kitty.

"Leave off. Or maybe Sam won't darn your socks tonight," Merry pointed out.

"Well let's see?" Pippin added, literally, counting fingers and then toes. "Fifteen days now for us without second breakfasts, elevenses, luncheons, teas, and dinners."

"And no real snacks either," said Sam.

"It's a wonder," continued Pippin, "that with only two meager meals a day we haven't collapsed from starvation."

"Nobody better start talking again about what their first meal at Rivendell will be, or I will scream!" pronounced Kitty

"Poor, poor hobbits," muttered Aragorn with a grin at the other adults.

"Poor, poor children," Storm snickered back at him.

* * *

The next day, there was no longer any doubt they had left the Weather Hills behind. The terrain took on a flatter and more varied feel: more trees and bushes, fewer rocks and fields of dried grass and brush, though still a cheerless land in the cool, advancing autumn weather. They worked hard at not letting it affect them. At one point they came within sight of the Road as it looped northward. Aragorn took an hour to travel to the Road and investigate it for signs of recent passage. He returned to the group with nothing of note to report. They accepted the news dispassionately, but each hoped it a sign they were truly lost of the Black Riders.

* * *

The tenth day out of Bree began much akin to the previous one. The scenery refused to change much aside from the outline of Weathertop growing slightly more distant and the slowly approaching Misty Mountains rising a smidge taller. They paralleled the Road, though stayed at least a mile distant from it, at least according to Strider they did.

During a break, while those who walked mostly rested on a fallen tree and those who rode stretched numbed legs and bottoms, Aragorn whistled low and raised an arm. Conversation stopped and all heads turned to the Ranger.

"Hooves. Positions!" he ordered, drawing Narsil and walking in the direction of the approaching sounds. The hobbits and girls crouched behind the fallen log while Storm and Jean stayed in front of it. Jean scanned the ground for possible projectiles. Storm reached into the sky to discover what energy she could readily tap into.

"_Aiya mellon,_" rang an elvish voice through the trees.

"Glorfindel!" shouted Aragorn returning the broken blade to its sheath.

The group saw a golden haired elf on a white horse glide quickly into the glade. He leapt off his mount and gathered Aragorn in a fast embrace. "I have come at the bidding of the Master of Rivendell and the Grey Pilgrim to find you," said the Elf Lord in Westron so the entire group could understand him.

Upon releasing his grip of the ranger and turning in full for the first time toward the rest of the party, the four X-men got their first up close view of Glorfindel. All four responded identically to the radiant First Born, with a jaw dropping, "wow!"

* * *

Upon gaining his first unimpeded vision of the four women accompanying Aragorn and the hobbits, Glorfindel simply thought, 'wow!' Regardless of his stunned response, none of the ladies, including Jean, saw any interior turmoil through his outwardly imperturbable visage. 'Not-Edain, yet not-Quendi, women, indeed!' the Elf Lord pondered. Their souls shown as bright through the veil of flesh as any of the first Eldar to reach Valinor. The youngest blazed the least. The other girl's essence, brilliantly white, also intriguingly sparkled with both embers of other lights and also of dark. The Haradrim colored women's spirit reminded him of the strength and beauty of Elwing. The last one, red haired to match the dark flaming color of her soul, rivaled the brilliance of Mithrandir. But where Olorin projected the calm of the moon reflected off a still lake, this women roiled as a great burning hawk chained to the flesh, straining to be reborn. He feared at who might find themselves burned.

"Hail. I am Glorfindel, sent to assist you in your journey to Rivendell."

Sam's concern for his master, quickly broke through the natural bashfulness he felt being in the presence of such a lordly Elf. "Sir, did you see Mr. Frodo and Gandalf? Are they safe?"

"You must be Sam, Frodo's faithful servant. We met four days ago between the Mitheithel and the Bruinen. They were well. And since my three companions and I saw no sign of the Black Riders prior to the meeting, Frodo and Gandalf should by now be comfortably ensconced in Rivendell already. We shall soon join them."

"Three companions?" asked Merry, turning his head to look about for a hint of them.

"My comrades Neralad, Celethir, and Amdhros. We parted two days to increase the area we might search for you. And glad I am to have found you, whole and well … ?"

"Merry."

"Master Merry. And your friend …?

"Pippin. Both of us are cousins and childhood friends of Frodo. We sort of tagged along to help him. We knew he, and Bilbo before him, had a secret that needed keeping safe," the youngest hobbit self importantly added at the end.

"The less said on that the better," said Aragorn. "And these ladies are Storm, Kitty, Rogue, and Jean."

"A pleasure," Glorfindel stated and swept them a bow that made Kitty and Rogue's knees go even weaker. "During my brief exchange with the Grey Wizard, he passed on to me his admiration for your talents. I well see why. Perhaps we may talk more as we travel, for that is our goal."

As the party began arranging themselves to resume their journey, Kitty asked with a hopeful tone of voice, "Will … will we meet up with any of your companions soon?"

"Perchance. Much may happen afore we reach Rivendell."

* * *

The group travelled far, in fact crossing the north bound trail left by Celethir at one point, at least according to Glorfindel and Aragorn, and made camp within range of the low sound of the Mitheithel, called the Hoarwell at that point by man. With time and interaction, both hobbits and women lost much of their awe of the First Born. At dinner Glorfindel shared his lembas roll with the party, which though small in portion to each of the eight recipients, filled their stomachs and more importantly delighted their taste buds after ten days of bland travel fare. The glow of calm exuding from the Elf generated a restful night's sleep, except for Glorfindel himself, who stayed awake all night on watch, once Aragorn turned in after several hours of whispered converse. In the morning as they broke their fasts with more porridge, the Ranger announced that with a little effort they would make the Bridge of the Mitheithel by the afternoon.

* * *

The Road had dipped south while the party journeyed more eastward the previous day, so it took till past the sun's zenith before one horse, five ponies, four women, three hobbits, a man, and an elf came out of the wild a mile from the bridge. Leading the group, Asfaloth crested a small rise on the road and pulled to a stop before a short steep slope down to the Mitheithel. As each member gained the crest, he or she halted and stared like Glorfindel down at the bridge. Six black garbed figures stood occupying the middle of the bridge and malevolently gazing back at them.

_((fear))_

_((anger))_

_((hate))_

_((despair))_

_((pain))_

_((loathing))_

_((worry))_

_((madness))_

_((conceit))_

_((loneliness))_

_((vengeance))_

_((paranoia))_

_((despair))_

_((shame))_

_((rage))_

_((hopelessness))_

_((pain))_

Waves of monstrous emotions surged up at the group assembled on the small rise. Asfaloth shuffled nervously and the ponies carrying the hobbits started to rear. Aragorn and Storm quickly snatched reins, allowing Merry, Sam, and Pippin to hop off before the small mounts threw them or ran off. Jean cried out and dropped to the ground pressing hands to her skull, praying for her sanity while burying her psyche deeper than she'd ever hidden it before.

Glorfindel spurred Asfaloth and the white charger leapt forward. Half way down the slope, a noticeable brightness started to glow from the Elf Lord. With each stride of the horse, the more luminescent he became. The Ringwraiths began to edge backward on the bridge. By the time Glorfindel reached the bridge, the light radiating from him was so intense neither his own nor Asfaloth's features could be detected inside the globe. But a third of the way over, the forward momentum of the ball of light stopped.

A cold guttural chanting was heard and suddenly an impossibly black orb appeared on the bridge in front of Glorfindel. The countervailing spheres undertook a brief dance of bobbing and weaving, each daring the other to touch it. Soon, the black orb grew larger than Glorfindel's and out of it strode a Nazgul carrying a burning sword. The same Nazgul who'd led the attack in Bree, the Witch King of Angmar. Gouts of flame erupted off the Ringwraiths blade, striking the dome of light around the First Born. After the fourth successful salvo, the mighty Elf Lord retreated off the bridge to cackles of derision from his ring enslaved foe.

Glorfindel, his luminescence greatly diminished, pulled up twenty yards from the bridge entrance and stared hard at the enemy who had temporarily cowered, but failed to rout at his demonstration. A thin shimmer in the air around the elf flared, the only outward indication he maintained a shield against the eldritch, whenever the occasional jagged bolt of fire launched by the Witch King aimed true. Slowly, behind the Nazgul leader, the black orb faded back to nothingness revealing the five remaining Ringwraiths.

Aragorn turned to Storm. "We must assist Glorfindel and force the bridge from them."

"Can we even kill them?" shouted a near hysterical Rogue.

"Though there is little more than hate and greed left to their bodies, they have some substance. They can be killed. But do so from a range, any strike by hand you make will also cause hurt to yourself. It is the curse of the black breath."

"What about your poker?" asked Kitty.

"Narsil was forged in the First Age when dwarves wove earth magic deeply into all they forged. This sword cut the Dark Lord himself, I will be secure."

Storm, who had been holding Jean's trembling, catatonic form, gently layed her down and stood up. "Girls, these bastards are hurting Jean. Stay and protect her. The boys too. I'm joining this party!"

With most of the attention focused on Glorfindel the past minutes, no one noticed the sweeping change in the weather that brought clouds and gusts of wind to the Mitheithel. Storm and Aragorn began jogging down the slope toward the Elf Lord and the bridge. After no more than 50 feet, a blast of air swooped down lifting Storm into the air ... high into the air. Seconds later, lightning, not Storm, fell from the heavens.

The Ringwraiths would not be taken unawares a second time by the sudden onslaught of Storm's fierce attack, even with the unexpected addition of the dark skinned woman's aerial maneuvering to the violent electrical assault. However forewarned did not necessarily immediately translate into a successful defense. Two Nazguls were quickly flung from their feet, injured by the overflow of the electrostatic discharge from the many, many kilo-ampere near misses. The Witch King promptly switched his responsibility in the fight, bringing his sword upward as a termination interrupter for the incoming bolts, absorbing, grounding, and reflecting them back at the mutant.

Emboldened, Glorfindel pressed back to the bridge, launching spears of light at the hated black guards. This too the Ringwraiths responded against quickly with an eerie chant, similar to their first, gurgling forth from three of the Nazguls to break across the rampaging wind. This time a jet black shield, instead of an orb, formed to extend out across the bridge and swallow the Elf Lord's thrown light. The two injured Nazguls regained their feet and added the power of their voices and magics to the chant. Then the entire band of enemy commenced a slow walk forward in unison, pushing the shield in front of them by the strength of their wills.

Aragorn arrived at the bridge, slashing mightily at the advancing, light absorbing shield of ebony magic. Narsil proved up to the challenge and hew out pieces of dark photonic matter from it, making small ruptures in the integrity of the Ringwraiths' barrier. Glorfindel soon focused his attacks on the instabilities the Ranger created and the odd shaft of light occasionally smashed through to slash a Nazgul. The pain of the fight was not all one way. Aragorn grunted several times in pain as small chunks of hewn dark light sprayed on to him, causing deep, icy burns. And when a Nazgul supporting the shield had a moments respite to split its concentration, a black, solar-like flare spit forth from the shield itself to strike at either the Dunedain or the First Born.

Kitty, Rogue, Merry, and Pippin all stood rooted in place, watching the back and forth of the horrible battle below them. Only Sam paid direct attention to Jean, kneeling beside her, holding her hand. His tears splashed on her face, "Please Ms. Jean, please wake up. They need you. Ms. Storm. Strider. Even the handsome Elf Lord needs you," he begged and begged.

The Witch King knew his magical blade had absorbed as much energy as it could possibly hold. He spurred into a run toward the shield and barked commands. The instant before he reached the dark barrier, his brethren stopped chanting causing the shield to dissolve as the Witch King passed through it. With a thousand years of animosity he unleashed all the energy in his blade at the abominable golden Elf Lord. The surge of power shattered the sword, unfocusing the attack. Despite the mishap in the Black Captain's blow, the potency of it would surely have destroyed the mighty Glorfindel except for the sacrifice of Asfaloth. Reacting to the thrust, the powerful white steed turned toward it taking the initial force of the blow, which shattered the loyal horse's chest, leaving residual energy to fling Glorfindel afar from his dead mount. The Chief of the Nazguls continued running, changing course to aim for where the elven scum landed. The other five Nazguls pulled their weapons and also ran off the bridge to carry the fight to the horrid lovers of Valinor.

Seeing Glorfindel fall, Storm swooped down from the skies to protect him. Mixing flight and lightning in her initial anger had been a mistake she realized as she landed in front of the elf while watching the leader in black charge at her. She felt drained and lacked a delicate hand. She instinctively knew she now lacked the ability to call down multiple strikes in different locations. The others would have to fare for themselves and things didn't look pretty. Storm called down three bolts in a row, and the last one finally landed close enough to knock the Nazgul leader over. She immediately spotted two more Nazguls hot on the first one's heels. Things definitely didn't look pretty.

Aragorn fought one on two. Luckily, as he felt Narsil shudder slightly in his hand as it repelled another minor enchantment thrown at him, his opponents were not as skilled as him at sword play and were too weakened from their previous exertions to use stronger magic against him. He swiped, deflected, and moved constantly to stop from being outflanked and slowly drove the two Ringwraiths toward the lip of the Mitheithel.

"Crap, one's coming up the rise," announced Kitty in a frightened voice. "Guys, stay by Jean. Rogue, I'll deke him, then you grab him, ok?"

Merry and Pippin nodded with scared faces and drew their Barrow blades, taking a position right in front of their red headed friend.

"Agghhhhhh!" Rogue screamed to vent her extreme frustration and fear. Then she took off her gloves to show Kitty she was ready.

"Jean, wake up, they're coming for us," Sam cried. Jean's eyes opened, showing nothing but white. The tremors afflicting her stopped, replaced by a complete absence of motion. Sam wondered if she'd stopped breathing.

The Nazgul swung once, Kitty dodged. The Nazgul swung twice, Kitty hopped back just out of range. The Nazgul stomped his foot forward and extended his arm in a thrust right at Kitty's abdomen. She phased and howled in anguish. The vile energy of the Nazgul's ensorcelled blade radiated even through her state of quantum tunneling. The sixteen year old girl felt a moment of bliss as the Nazgul pulled its arm back, removing its sword from her loosely packaged atomic particles. Nothingness followed the bliss and Kitty Pryde tumbled to the ground unconscious.

Rogue shouted a berserker's rage and leapt on the back of the asshole stabbing Kitty. Rogue's naked hands scrambled across the nasty creature's armored arms and armored head, searching for bare skin. The asshole snapped his head backwards and his armored helm smacked Rogue hard across the forehead, brutally cutting it. As Anna Marie slide off the asshole's back, nothingness swallowed her consciousness.

Merry remembering his previous bout with a Nazgul stepped slightly forward and thrust his small blade forward in a way he hoped the Black Rider would find enticing to slap back at. No such luck this time for the poor hobbit. The Nazgul's blade came down, but over Merry's arm, slashing him across the chest. The impact of the blow spun him back into Pippin. The two, entangled, tumbled to the ground. A bit of blood sprayed from his sliced chest landed on Sam's hair as he huddled over Jean. Sam whimpered, "please Ms. Jean, please." The Nazgul Lord Khamul took a step closer. A tiny bit of blood dropped from Sam's hair on to Jean's face.

In that instant, Jean's eyes turned from pure white to fire red. Reality warped. The Nazgul Lord Khamul suddenly found himself facing a woman bathed in the shape of a fiery bird. He lashed out again, and again, and again with his stabbing sword right into the woman's abdomen. Blood gushed on to his black cloak, staining it deep crimson. The arms of the women rose toward him. He stabbed again and again. She refused to fall. The arms, garbed in burning feathers and appointed with fierce talons, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. The arms squeezed and squeezed. Unimaginably hot fire swept over him. A tremendous explosion rocked the Mitheithel and a blast of light shot forth into the sky. The fiery arms dampened, then opened to reveal … nothing. The Nazgul Lord Khamul had ceased to exist … down to the last molecule.

A haze covered Jean's eyes as she dimly thought, 'I'm falling.'


	7. Chapter 7 - The Eyes of Middle Earth

LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 7 – The Eyes of Middle Earth

The tall, strong Black Numenorean scurried up from the bowels of the mighty edifice, cursing, and when necessary blasting, aside any man, orc, or other creature in his path. No one responds slowly, more than once, to a summons from The Lord Master, especially when the summons states '_NOW_!' The delicious pain of the call still echoed through the Mouth's brain as he reached the central stairs of Barad-dur and started to sprint to the top of the Dark Tower. Upon reaching the last landing before the Level of the Eye, he stopped to prepare himself. The Lord Master did not tolerate a disorganized servant, so he took the time to re-adjust the lofty helm that had come askew during his dash, smooth his black robes, and perform minor enchantments to calm his agitated body and excited mind. After a minute, feeling he had now achieved the proper state of equilibrium, he advanced in a stately walk up the last set of stairs and came out into the open air presence of the All Seeing Eye.

"You summoned me Lord Master," the powerful man stated, and then knelt on all fours in homage on the ice cold marble atop the Tower of Barad-dur. The hundred foot wide apparition of a Red Eye hovering high above failed to acknowledge him and proceeded to ignore him. This descendant of Queen Beruthiel of Umbar and practioner of the dark arts neither quailed in fright nor stewed in anger at being made to uncomfortably wait. He used the time to review in his mind the most likely information The Lord Master might inquire about. He was a mere servant of the Red Eye, but an able and powerful one. His talents and knack for undermining rivals had risen him far in The Lord Master's service. He was the Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-dur, the veritable Mouth of Sauron, and no one's fool.

Through the side of his eye the Mouth watched the Palantir of Minas Morgul float down and land in its holding basin.

(_arise_)

The Mouth stood. Tendrils of vapor slid from the bottom edge of the Red Eye toward the marble floor. The man calmly pondered if he now witnessed his own coming doom caused by some unknown error he had made. Slowly the tendrils reached the ground and then started to form themselves into the image of a vital, strikingly handsome man clothed in the garb of the long drowned island of his ancestors.

Mentally the Mouth gasped, The Lord Master granted him a signal honor by partially taking the shape he had presented himself in to Ar-Pharazôn, greatest of the Kings of ancient Numenor. An icy voice issued from the beautiful incarnation before him.

"Did you feel the release of death in the Aether?"

"I felt something My Lord Master. I was with the Lore Wardens in the forge. We all felt it, but could not fanthom what it was. The disturbance caused an Easterling to falter an incantation. His blood now coats Grond."

"Something near Rivendell utterly obliterated Lord Khamul. Only the faintest hints of his soul remain tied to me. The rest of the Nine are ravaged and scattered."

"The grey spirit?"

"Not him. A pity the fool turncoat could not keep that one chained."

"The half-breed?"

"No. Though I cannot sense him in his valley, were he to leave, I would know. But a Noldor did fight at the site of Khamul's destruction."

"Has aid come from beyond the Sea?"

"Perhaps. The power that rendered Khamul contained no taste I have experienced before."

"Your mighty armies can move before spring if they are needed. However, to do so will weaken the blow. It will take time to inform your distant minions of a revised schedule. The Hammer of the Underworld will not be ready for several months. The Easterling hordes will have trouble moving north through the snows. And the winds will make the gathering of the southron raiders more difficult."

"The Fell Beasts will be used to carry new commands when the time is right."

"Ahhh, My Lord Master, the Fell Beasts, even with them it will require journeys of several days. And their conditioning so far will only allow one with the strength of the Nine to dominate them for so long a mission. And now, with no Lord Khamul, one of the others must make additional travels to cover for the lands he would have visited."

The icy cold beauty of the human incarnated Sauron smiled at his slave. "Which is why I summoned you." He extended an insubstantial fist, turned it over and opened the hand. Resting a top it lay a ring.

"It would take years to re-embody Khamul from his soul's measly remnants. The coming work demands a whole Nine sooner. I choose you."

"My Lord Master honors me beyond my miserable worth."

"Truly. So you will first swear to me oaths capable of reducing mountains. And only then may you place this ring on your finger."

Terrible chants echoed off the terraced roof of the Tower of Barad-dur. The weaker willed denizens of the Dark Tower crouched in fear as the entire mighty edifice hummed with powers first spoken in ancient, horrible Utumno. Those with more powerful minds hungered in their dark hearts for the favor being extended to another.

* * *

Cirdan the Shipwright stood atop the tallest tower in the Grey Havens, and for a change he did not look out to sea. This day his gaze, accompanied by the occasional rubbing of his beard, peered over the roof tops of Forlond to the East. At least once a century Cirdan wished he had never given the Great Ring Narya to Mithrondir. He speculated that today might turn into one of those moments.

The sound of a pair of feet lightly speeding up the circular staircase toward his perch on the tower reached his keen ears. Maethil rounded the last arc and came onto the deck ring to find the Lord of the Grey Havens patiently waiting for him.

"I can tell you no more than what you yourself experienced. If I had perchance been looking toward Rivendell at the time …" and Cirdan's shoulders ever so slightly twitched in the elven equivalent of a shrug.

"I have not felt such a release since the Wars with Angmar," Maethil stated.

"Or when the Necromancer was driven from Dol Guldur," replied Cirdan.

"Yes. But that was the other side of the Hithaeglir, I cannot see as far as you. Regardless, what does this mean?"

"Galdor left over a month ago to deliver some messages to Elrond. He shall return by the Solstice. I fear we must wait till then to discover the import of it all. Though I think it may somehow be tied up with the whispers of Black Riders and Mithrondir's young hobbit friend traveling East."

"And if the _final_ war has started?" Maethil asked.

"You have made your point, then we would prepare for _The Deluge_. What preliminary actions do you wish to take?"

"We could place an order for the metal fittings to a hundred ships with the Firebeards and the Broadbeams? That would get the forges going should we truly need more."

"And who do you suggest we send with gold to visit our nasty Firebeard neighbors in the southern Ered Luin? And who to the greedy Broadbeams in the northern Ered Luin?"

* * *

The Lord of Many Colours removed his hands from the Palantir of Orthanc and covered it with a silken cloth. As always, after communing through the stone with Lord of Mordor, his human body and mind felt tired. Mental conversation was only the least aspect of any contact with that disembodied Maia. Dominance, always dominance, governed every session. Their two powerful wills, created at the dawn of time, struggled at every contact to impose themselves on the other. Sauron's power, while vast, experienced limits imposed by the loss The Ring. The Ring. So foolish, for a child of Eru, a Maia, an Ainur, to incorporate and concentrate so much of itself into a material component of Arda. And then lose it!

Oh The Ring. Such possibilities thought the Skillful One. These fleshly bodies he and his brethren had been integrated into back in glorious Valinor. The limitations they imposed on his ability to fully express his powers. With his guidance, Middle Earth, lowly, dim, chaotic, backward, yet still retaining a rough beauty, could be restructured under his benevolent caretaking into an organized garden to reflect the splendor of Aman. With The Ring. The Ring! Saruman of the Many Colours need not risk breaking his weak fleshly cloth to achieve this magnificent vision! He exited the Viewing Chamber and descended several levels to the Receiving Hall.

"Ugluk"

"Yes Lord?" hissed the large, black Uruk-hai on messenger duty.

"Inform the Breaker of the Horses that two-twelves of mounts will be needed in a fortnight. The Lord of Mordor has humbly begged for help. His Riders have been injured in the north, their mounts left fit only for feasting, and they wish to flee like snagas back to their Master. Tell the Breaker to use what remains of last year's tithe in horse flesh from Rohan and he is to use the harshest conditioning. The Riders will prove a challenge to those they mount."

Saruman turned in dismissal. His thoughts already back to the possibilities of The Ring. The Ring!

* * *

Celeborn, Lord of the Galadhrim, and co-ruler of Lothlorien strode lightly down the southern slope of Caras Galadhon. His wife had been ensconced for three days and he felt it time to finally intervene. He passed through a high green hedge and entered the Garden of Galadriel. He headed for a flight of stairs, for he knew where she must be, and descended them into a deep green hollow through which ran a silver stream. Next to a low pedestal holding a basin, he found her on the ground, a ringed hand alit on a silver ewer.

He stood above, looking down on her tear streaked fair face.

"What have you seen?" he asked quietly.

"A flaming bird of death."

"Death to whom?"

"The wicked and the righteous."

"The Ringwraith?"

"Yes."

"Who of the virtuous?"

"None yet."

"Whom will it strike more?"

"That answer is not to be discovered."

"Where does it come from?"

"Beyond the Song and then Rivendell."

"Will the bird fly to the Golden Wood?"

"Yes."

"Then arise. There is much we must prepare for."

* * *

(_wake up little bird_)

(_(fear)_)

(_you are in the home of elrond. _[**images of the last homely house, friends, and elves.**])

(_(fear)_)

(_you are strong little bird. be brave._)

(_(fear)_)

(_your body has healed._)

(i_ am become a monster!_)

(_you are loved by those with hearts full of good._)

(_(fear)_)

Gandalf ceased his efforts at mental speech and looked across the bed at Elrond. "Her unthinking mind still refuses to release the cocoon."

The mighty lord of Rivendell gazed through the telekinetic shields wrapped around the now healthy body of Jean Grey and his mind saw the burning avian creature within her. "Perhaps that is not an unwelcome outcome."


	8. Chapter 8 - The Last Homely House

LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 8 – The Last Homely House

Kitty woke and found herself lying in bed. At first she thought she had fitfully slept late after an over long night of bad dreams. Or had she been ill? Wait, the ceiling looked strange with intricate designs carved into wooden ceiling beams. She noticed the soothing hum of running water trickling over rocks in the distance.

"Where am I?" she wondered aloud, finally coming fully awake.

"In Rivendell," announced a voice.

"Storm!" cried Kitty, bolting upright. There was her teacher, mentor, friend, sitting in a chair near the bed.

"Lay back child, don't strain yourself. You've been unconscious for five days. You are lucky to be here."

Kitty eased back down, the memory of the ugly fight at the bridge returning to her. Storm flying about raining down thunder, Glorfindel getting blown off his horse, Jean comatose on the ground, the Nazgul charging up the rise at them, her trying to dance out of range of the frightful … thing, and then overwhelming pain. "So what happened?" Kitty finally asked. "Are the others all right?"

"No one died. Everyone's recovering from their wounds."

"How bad? Who?"

"Rogue leapt on the back of the creature that stabbed you and got a wicked cut across her forehead for it. She is fine. Merry was slashed badly across the chest. He almost bled out, but he is doing ok now. We were aided in our care for all of you by the arrival of Glorfindel's friend Celethir that evening. Neralad and Amdhros came the next day and that's when we decided to chance it to move you and the rest of the injured. It took a slow four day journey to get here. Gandalf and Elrond with a bunch of his elves met us at the ford below Rivendell yesterday. Elrond has been treating everyone pretty much non-stop since."

"Then who stopped the Black Rider? Did Jean? Did she wake up?"

"She did. She awoke somehow and, covering herself in a pyrokinetic fire, grabbed hold of the abomination that stabbed you and Merry. He ripped her open with a dozen cuts, but when Jean finally let go, that thing wasn't there anymore."

"Oh my god!" Kitty exclaimed, while bolting back up right. "How is she?"

"Calm child, calm. I said everyone's recovering. Her unconscious mind wrapped her body in some sort of telekinetic cocoon to heal itself. Elrond says her wounds have already closed and he detects no internal damage."

"There's a but, isn't there?"

"Her mind won't unleash the cocoon. Gandalf's been trying to talk with her mentally. But so far without very much luck."

"Damn … that's … horrible. And the rest of the bad guys?"

"Jean destroying the one must have scared them badly. Aragorn had backed two next to the river bank, and they just jumped in. I was facing off against three of them, but by the time Jean got done, Glorfindel was getting back to his feet. They beat a hasty retreat across the bridge, jumped on their horses and headed south."

"And Pippin and Sam?"

"Just scared half to death."

"You mentioned Gandalf. Is Frodo here too?"

"Yes, safe and sound. When he hasn't been standing vigil over you or Merry or Jean, he's been showing us around Rivendell with his step father Bilbo. That one is quite the character."

"Well how did you guys get us all here if we were unconscious?"

"Amdhros usually carried you in front of him on his horse." A smirk broke across Storm's face. "And can I say, he is dream-E-E."

"Damn! A gorgeous Elf Lord held me for four days and I never woke up once? No fair!"

* * *

At that moment there was a soft knock on the door, and Rogue came in, wearing a white bandage around her head. She ran to Kitty and took her left hand awkwardly with her own gloved right. "You're awake."

Kitty laughed in reply. "And about time too. I bet I look better than you do."

"What? This old thing," answered Rogue, touching the bandage across her forehead with her other hand.

"Does it hurt?" they both asked at the same time, eliciting laughs from each other and Storm.

"No," stated Rogue. "There's a bunch of magic elvish goo smeared over the wound. The cut got badly infected by whatever disgusting slime was on that jerk's helmet. Neralad," and she pronounced the name in a dreamy intonation, "tells me I'll probably get a decent sized scar out of it. Guess bangs will be my look from now on. How bout you?"

"'Good," and at Rogue's dubious look. "No, seriously. Storm, I've been awake for what, twenty minutes?"

"More like ten."

"But no pain. I _remember_ pain. Maybe a little weak, that's all. I feel bad for Jean and Merry though."

"We all do," Rogue responded sadly, then thinking to cheer up the conversation, added, "Well Merry is just down the hall around the corner out on the veranda. Pillows all fluffed up around him being waited on hand and foot by Sam and Frodo. Bilbo sang to him early, but he didn't show much interest. Are you up for a leisurely stroll to see our other patient? I bet seeing you would perk his little hobbit heart up."

"Definitely. And some food. I am starved. What did you feed me while I was out?"

"Each of the elves carried something called _miruvor_, if I am pronouncing that right, in a small silver flask," answered Storm. "They gave you a small sip twice a day. It always seemed to put some color back in your deathly pale cheeks. Now think you can stand?"

* * *

"Kitty!" all three hobbits exclaimed as the three mutants stepped outside on to a veranda overlooking the Bruinen.

Kitty was shocked to see Merry shirtless, his chest bound tight in bandage after bandage, with a haggard face.

"Merry, so good to see you! Frodo and Sam aren't tiring you out too much are they? You look about done in."

"Done in? Ha! Almost skewered in more like it."

"Now Mr. Merry, sir, no making light of it."

"Alright, alright, Sam. I am glad to be about, as it were. A person doesn't come to Rivendell to see the bed rooms. I couldn't stay in mine a moment longer, and Bilbo said he had just the spot for me, where he takes his mid morning naps. Quite comfortable they've made me."

"And poor old Bilbo had to go find someplace else to nap today," Frodo added in a light voice. "Here, let me clear this seat for you Kitty," Frodo said while picking up a tray with pastries on it.

"Oooh," Kitty moaned seeing the pastries. "Can I have one of those, I'm starving."

Frodo quickly passed one smelling of cinnamon and honey over to her. "And much tastier than porridge, dried fruit, and way bread too."

"Mnnh," she mumbled in delight at the sweet dough. "You've been here longer than the rest of us Frodo. Is all the food this good?"

"Even better, Ms. Kitty" answered Sam for Frodo.

"Speak for yourselves," grumbled Merry. "Except for those tasties, I've been stuck on nothing but broth or soup. Still, Sam's right, even that is more flavorful than anything that's passed my lips since Butterbur's."

As the autumn sun warmed the air around the Last Homely House, the three hobbit and three mutant friends renewed the bonds of their companionship discussing this and that aspect of their fabulous journey. Merry fell asleep first. While Frodo spoke to Kitty of his separate journey with Gandalf, she also finally succumbed to fatigue and nodded off as well. Rivendell did feel like a haven from the world's troubles, for now.

* * *

Kitty woke up again, and found herself back in bed, alone. A smidge of sunlight still echoed through the window of her room. She got out of bed, no longer tired, but greatly hungry for food, preferably something greasy. 'A cheeseburger would be killer!' she thought. Kitty quickly discovered a green dress with intricate needlework draped over a chair with a note pinned to it. A fancy, squiggly "K" was the only communiqué on the parchment. As she started changing, she reflected 'I hope its supper they want me dressed fancy for.' Once clothed, she noticed sequined shoes, alas no heels, beneath the chair the dress had rested on, which she slipped on.

Peering in a mirror, she approved the reflection staring back at her. Thinner, but more mature, Kitty thought, mostly in the eyes. At last satisfied, she turned to the door, took a breath, and opened it, ready to explore all Rivendell had to offer. Rivendell immediately proffered Frodo for Kitty's amusement, for at that moment he was walking down the hall towards her door.

"Kitty! Glad to see you're up and changed. You look fabulous. Sorry we tired you out on the veranda."

"I did fall asleep there. How'd I get back to my room?"

"Uhm, err …" replied Frodo.

"Don't tell me. Another elf carried me, right?"

"Afraid so. Lindir is such a helpful chap. He had to shush Rogue quiet for fear of waking you. She seemed quite amused at your … predicament."

"I'll bet she was. So what's up?"

"We're having dinner in Bilbo's room tonight, and I was fetched to get you."

"Lead on then. And Frodo, if you happen to lead us past a few elves on the way, I wouldn't be sorry."

Frodo chuckled. "Elves here, Elves there, it shouldn't be a problem, Kitty. This is a big house, no knowing what or _who_ you'll find around the next corner."

True to his word, the hobbit led Kitty in a seeming maze of turns and stairs where they passed many an elf. Some appeared splendid as lords or great ladies, others cheery as children, and even one stiff as a hardened soldier. Snatches of songs in what must be the elven tongue wafted down a few of the passages they traversed till finally they came to a door upon which Frodo knocked once lightly before turning the knob and entering.

Kitty followed and saw her friends in a small, tidy room full of books. Merry lay propped up in the lone bed, supported by several fluffy pillows. An older hobbit, with a bright twinkle to his eyes, sat at the foot of the bed. "Cram in, cram in, we shall all fit if we hold our breaths," he announced as he stood up. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. Kitty. Bilbo Baggins at your service," he said while bowing. "And may I extend my deepest thanks for keeping Frodo and the rest of these ragamuffins safe. I hear it was a chore and half without the benefit of elevenses, as we'd say in the Shire."

Pippin, sitting on a stool in the corner, chortled. "Little in the way of elevenses, or teas, or second brekkers, either."

"My pleasure too, Mr. Bilbo. The boooyz … your relatives spoke of you in the glowingest of terms. I've never met anyone who's seen a real life dragon, let alone dared face it down. I hope our stay in Rivendell is long enough I can hear first hand your adventures."

Bilbo's responding chuckles held a hint of bitterness, "Adventures. Some adventures seem to never have an end, do they? Well I'm sure we'll chat, my dear. Time, as you'll find in the House of Elrond, is a tricky, elongating thing. Now grab a stool, a plate, and tuck in. The venison pie is particularly tooth worthy tonight."

Dinner had been set on the table Bilbo usually had strewn with books, scrolls, maps, and piles full of notes. Kitty sat down next to Rogue, who was also dressed prettily in a green gown, this one with wrist length sleeves, but with also the added addition of a net of sheer lace, sparkling with tiny jewels, upon her head helping to hide a pale bandage. Reaching for a plate, Kitty nudged her friend, pointed up and whispered, "nice."

"Neralad," again pronouncing the name in a dreamy tone, "gave it to me."

"Realllllyyyy?" Kitty whispered back with raised, inquiring eyebrows.

"Oh stop. He's like ten thousand years old. Yick."

Everyone did in fact 'tuck in' as Bilbo suggested. The next several minutes were spent in companionable and relative silence, aside from the sound of chewing and various 'yum' type sounds. At some point glasses were passed around. Storm handed a red wine each to the teens, but announced, "Only one glass tonight ladies. And remind me to arrange for water at all our future meals."

"I could call for some dwarven stout, if you'd rather Ms. Storm," interjected their host graciously.

"No thanks Bilbo, and please, it's just Storm, we're all friends here. As for the wine, where we come from we limit the amount of alcohol and spirits served the young."

This announcement elicited a minor cacophony of disbelief from the hobbits. "No!" "How peculiar." "Big People." "Poor ladies." "More for me then."

Storm eventually broke the silence that followed the outburst and resumption of dining with the question that had been burning her self control since Bree. "Bilbo earlier mentioned adventures never ending. Is that why we're here Frodo? Is that why the Black Riders hunted us and coming to Rivendell so important? I think it's time you let us know what _exactly_ we've risked our lives for."

Frodo and Bilbo both gulped. Merry, Pippin, and Sam got a bit dry in their mouths and reached for their wines.

"You've all earned the right and more so, especially Jean," said Frodo slowly.

"How is she?" asked Sam hopefully.

"No change," responded Storm quietly.

"I shan't tell the story as pretty as say Gandalf would, but I'll try. A very, _very_ long time ago an evil and mighty Lord, Sauron, you've heard us mention him, the master of Mordor, he made a magic ring of great power. Even put a part of himself in it somehow. In a great war by Elves and Men to stop him, the Ring was cut off his finger, killing him, or so many people thought. But they didn't destroy the Ring and then it was lost for thousands of years. Bilbo, well he …"

"I found it. Or rather I won it," cut in Bilbo, "on my adventure with the dwarves to kill the old dragon Smaug. I won it in a cave under the Misty Mountains from this foul creature Gollum. Course I didn't know The Ring was important. I did discovere though it was magic, and I could use it to disappear. Puff," he snapped his fingers, "just like that. Turns out I wouldn't have been much use to Thorin Oakenshield and the others along the way if I hadn't a had it."

"You weren't all that careful in using it in the Shire, Bilbo. Merry, Sam, and myself all saw you use it at some point or another," declared Pippin.

"And we could put two and two together," added Merry.

"Shush youngsters. Well Gandalf showed up one day and told me in that mysterious way of his t'was time I passed the Ring on to Frodo lad. And I did so, on my eleventy-first birthday. Hardest thing I ever did, walking away without it in my pocket. First time in sixty years. Didn't know how important the Ring truly were till Frodo showed up here with Gandalf and they told me it's history. Go on Frodo. It's your story now, sad to say."

"I had it for seventeen years when Gandalf arrived this spring at Bag End. He told me what he knew about the Ring. He said Sauron had returned and wanted the Ring back. Those Black Riders, they have rings too it turns out, you know, tied to _the_ Ring somehow. He controls them and sent them to look for me. That is why I had to leave the Shire."

"And we wouldn't let Mr. Frodo go alone," declared Sam proudly.

"Not by himself without Gandalf around to guard him," added Pippin.

"A pleasanter conspiracy there never was," announced Frodo. "And now we're here, thanks to you and Rogue and Kitty and Jean."

"Where is it?" asked Rogue.

"I have it. I keep it on a necklace. Gandalf's warned me not to put _it_ on, else the Black Riders or worse see me through magic."

"Can we look at it?" asked Kitty.

"NO!" shouted Bilbo, looking all flustered.

"It's all right," soothed Frodo to his guardian.

"Sorry I got flummoxed," said Bilbo. "See, the first night Frodo got to Rivendell, we came to my room here. I asked my dear boy if I could gaze at it again, this Ring causing such an uproar among all these mighty folk. Frodo started to pull it out and I felt … I felt … it was like the day I walked away from the Ring. I could only think of holding it again. I … hungered for it. I wanted to snatch it from him."

"And knowing he desired it, I suddenly burned to strike at poor Bilbo, but he hardly looked like Bilbo to me anymore, just some wrinkled creature. I fear if I'd started I don't know when I could have stopped myself."

"The vile thing is accursed. I've never been sorrier about anything I've ever done in my long life than having passed this terrible burden to my poor, darling Frodo." Bilbo sniffled back tears at his words. Everyone else's eyes watered too at the painful, sad sentiment in the old hobbit's voice.

"What is to be done now?" asked Storm quietly.

"Elrond will be holding a meeting in a few days to discuss that very question," replied Frodo.

"I think I'll sit in on this gathering, we've earned the right to have our counsel heard," asserted Storm.

* * *

Aragorn strode from the eastern stables into the first glimmers of the new sun, having finished talking with the scouts returned from the previous night's patrols. Word had filtered back from the Grey Company that two mountless Ringwraiths had shambled across the Greyflood at Tharbad nine days earlier. And three Black Riders were confirmed to have crossed the Bruinen near its juncture with the Mitheithel three days ago. No definitive reports had returned yet on the two Nazguls who had jumped into the Mitheithel during the battle of the bridge, though signs of a muddy exit were noted several miles downstream on the western bank. One last Nazgul, assuming the total incineration of the ninth, remained completely unaccounted for. All in all Aragorn took the news as positive, the enemy's chief agents were disorganized and heading south. Would they return to Mordor? If so, how would they get there? Various possible routes and the implications each presented danced through his brain as he entered the Feasting Hall.

"Strider, Strider!" shouted out Pippin, trying to grab the Ranger's attention.

"Hullo Pippin. And good morning to you too Frodo, Sam," he replied once roused from his musings.

"You're up early. Break your fast with some flapjacks and syrup."

As he took a chair, "Not as early as you think, but still, later than any day on our little expedition."

"Foods certainly better," said Frodo. "Gandalf wasn't much of a cook."

"Says the greedy hobbit who's been enjoying elven food longer than the rest of us," countered Pippin. "Err, Strider, Well, I know it's maybe early to ask, cause we've no inkling of how long will be in Rivendell , nor when or where we'll go next. And the ladies pointed out last night in Biblo's room that no matter where we do go, even if just back to the Shire, it could well be dangerous. So what I'm meaning to ask …"

"Get on with it you long winded Took," muttered Frodo.

"… see, is, could you train us to be … more dangerous? I'm just a hobbit, but maybe I could take some big nasty by surprise if I really knew what to do with this Barrow blade in my belt."

"An excellent suggestion, Pippin, happy to see a friendly brain demonstrate more forethought than I've brought to the table. After we're finished here, I have a few errands, but we can get started in an hour. The Sun Dial garden should give us enough room."

"Can we ask the ladies too?" inquired Sam.

"Absolutely. Bring Merry too, if he's up to it, he can at least learn by watching from the side."

* * *

Storm opened the door to the library and stepped in. A surprising amount of light lit the room. Windows let in some sun, but no candles burned in this repository of paper, vellum, and parchment. The primary aid for unstrained reading came from a chandelier of glowing jewels suspending from the ceiling. With built in wall mounts, stand alone bookshelves, tables, and chairs, if not for the unearthly decorations and light fixtures, the room would not appear all that out of sorts with a typical public library back home.

"Home," sighed Storm. "Well, where to start, where to start," she muttered. With the one in a billion coincidence that English provided a ninety five percent match to the language humans used in Middle Earth, and most elves at least understood, it had probably been way too much to wish for that they also used a similar alphabet. Aragorn had crushed that hope one night in the Weather Hills when the two of them had drawn out with sticks their comparative scripts in the dirt. Useless Nordic looking runes.

"Why am I even bothering," she announced grumpily to the empty room. "I need to learn to speak and read elvish first."

A not quite empty room after all heard her complaint. A dignified, and weren't they mostly all dignified, elf holding a scroll stepped out from behind a bookshelf. "I am Galdor of the Havens. May I help you in some way Lady Storm?"

Storm smiled. "Thank you. Since you know my name, you may have heard, my friends and I are a bit … lost. I came here seeking information to help me understand your Middle Earth better, then I realized I cannot read what is in this marvelous library."

Galdor returned her smile. "The tomes collected in Rivendell are one of the reasons I frequently volunteer to carry messages to Master Elrond from my lord, Cirdan. The quest for knowledge is never foolish, no matter the obstacles placed in one's way."

"In that case, perhaps I may at least ask you a few questions?"

"Please."

"Your garb is different than most here; and, you spoke of 'the Havens.' Where and what are 'the Havens'?"

"Most perceptive. The Havens are two cities of elves near the mouth of the River Luhn and at the western end of the Great East-West Road, some two hundred leagues from here, past Bree, past the Shire of the Hobbits and nestled around a bay protruding from the Sea between the northern and southern arms of the Ered Luin mountains."

"Ah, I remember Aragorn mentioning once about the Elves of Lindon to the west. Are they near you?"

"Very, that is the name of the entire region based around the Havens. In an earlier Age there were enough of us to roam all of Lindon, now we mostly limit ourselves to around the twin cities, which are called Forlond and Harlond."

"And how many elves is that?"

"It varies. We are the gateway for all our kind who wish to depart over the Sea to the Undying Lands of the West, Aman. Many come and stay years at a time to help build the ships they will take and to learn to become sailors. For when a ship sails to the Blessed Realm, it never returns. A few of us depart with every voyage to guide them using the stars as a map. A few thousands of us currently remain to ensure those who grow tired will find a refuge."

An eager glint appeared in Storm's eyes. "Galdor, you just mentioned a map. Reading isn't usually a mandatory skill for understanding the basics of a map. Are there any maps of Middle Earth here we can look at?" she asked excitedly.

"Certainly."

Galdor pulled out several scrolls and unwound them on the tables of the library to display a wide variety and quality of maps. Using what she remembered about Middle Earth, gleaned from Aragorn during the trip from Bree, as an initial primer, Storm spent the remainder of the day with Galdor associating places, events, and peoples with their relevant locations on Middle Earth. With a daylong display of her memory, questions, and insight, Galdor several times adjusted upward his opinion of the unique daughter of man before him.

* * *

After only a minor search, Aragorn found his beloved preparing her mare for an afternoon ride. Arwen did not turn around at his quiet approach. She merely sniffed the air loudly and declared, "Usually you are more aromatic than this after a bout of sword practice."

"Ah, to be an elf, and seldom have the need to sweat," he playfully retorted. "As you no doubt noted, today's swordplay was not with Elladan or Elrohir. Teaching beginners, while difficult in its own way, is not as tiring as real practice."

"And how were your students?"

"As green as saplings. Bilbo, or someone, must have taught those three hobbits a few basics at some point. Kitty had surprisingly good balance for a complete novice. Rogue," and he sighed when he said her name, "has an over aggressive streak a mile wide. Unless she tames it she'll need to be near indestructible to avoid winding up on an orc blade, or worse."

"Will you practice with them regularly?"

"Every day, as long as our time here lasts. Only practice will make them decent enough to survive a real battle."

"That time will not be so long."

"I fear such too. A dark journey, with many skirmishes and fights, is coming."

"A journey with the hope of the world resting on it."

"And our hope too, most like."

"Yes," Arwen whispered back at him. "Walk me to my trail, with our time so limited, I desire as much of your company as you have to give." Arwen left the stable yard with the reins of her mare in one hand and Aragorn's hand in the other.

* * *

Dinner time had come and gone in the Feasting Hall. Hunger never once stirred Gandalf from his bedroom perch next to Jean's self induced cocoon wrapped form. Her unthinking mind refused to release her from imprisonment. He suspected he knew the reason, and thought it reasonable for a mere mortal to be petrified of accepting powers previously left only to the original singers and listeners of the Song. He had tried to reason with her, many times. He had cajoled her, many times. He had brought in those she loved, many times, to beg for her return. He had even once foolishly tried to wrestle control of the cocoon from her, but had stopped instantly at the escalation that imprudent attempt had wrought.

Elrond suggested the best course was to simply let '_it_' be. Certainly not an unwise choice. However, regardless the method that had brought this quandary to Middle Earth, and by now he had deduced the likely Bombadilistic nature of that method, Gandalf felt to the core of his tired old bones that this particular fantastical new chord would not have been permitted to enter the Song without reasons beyond even the scope of his own wisdom. He suspected an act of sufficient violence would awaken Jean, but shuddered to think of the consequences to Jean to Rivendell and to Middle Earth. Perhaps some low cunning might accomplish where previous efforts had failed.

At their first meeting, Jean had shared mental images of where they had come from. Other images he had collected by reading the surface thoughts of the girls Rogue and Kitty. This he hadn't done with the not-Haradrim, Storm, for she kept her thoughts under as tight a control as any Numenorean of old, and must surely have had training in mental discipline from the chief of their house, Professor Charles Xavier. Yes, perhaps this so called Professor X was the key to tricking Jean and the fiery raptor within her.

([**image of charles xavier.**] _jean, jean, wake up. the school is in danger._)

(_professor?_)

(_here jean. _[**image of charles Xavier outside the main entrance to the school.**] i cannot enter.)

(i_ don't understand. (confusion)_)

(_the children are lost. _[**image of students being led away by faceless mechanical men.**] _i must get in to save them. but the door will not open._)

(_the students?_)

(_yes. (desperation) but I cannot enter. you must help me._)

(_how professor?_)

(_by waking and opening the door for me. (urgency) i have always depended on you jean.(reassurance)_)

(i_ am scared professor._)

([**image of charles xavier out of his wheelchair, laying on the ground in front of the school.**] _open the door and i can save you too. the children need us jean. wake up. open the door._)

A tremendous wind, as if generated by the flapping of giant wings, began swirling around the room. The bedroom window exploded outward, sending shards of glass into the night air. The bedroom door wrenched off its hinges and whipping air gushed down the corridors of the Last Homely House extinguishing every lit candle in the house. The cocoon around Jean shimmered and waivered for several seconds, then it disappeared. Jean Grey gulped a breath of air, then in a dry, rasping voice asked, "Professor? Charles?"

Gandalf too took a gulp of air. "Welcome back little bird," he replied. The wizard could no longer tell where Jean Grey ended and the fierce bird of prey began.


	9. Chapter 9 - Voices New and Old

LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 9 – Voices New and Old

Jean walked through the sculptured landscape of Rivendell accompanied by Gandalf and felt at peace with the world. The Professor had taught her, to a degree, the bio feedback tricks of Zen Buddhist meditation to aid her concentration and improve her somewhat shaky control over her mutant abilities. However, for all the time she'd spent trying to focus her chakras, she certainly never experienced a sense of personal enlightenment or oneness with anything. The School and the Professor offered a structure of security. Teaching youngsters provided some purpose. And the love she shared with Scott granted an occasional moment of wholeness. Until now. She previously scoffed, politely, at the 'tranquility' the Professor claimed he attained in his rock garden. But here, in the embrace of Rivendell, her powers seemed hyper attenuated to everything and everyone. The whole valley vibrated at an edge of consciousness level with a soothing calm of peaceful psychic white noise.

That morning, when the grey clad wizard finally allowed her visitors, she could 'see' each person's joy at her recovery reflected in their thoughts like the reflection off a cold, clear mountain lake. Some were more disciplined and muted with their mental projections, but still she saw those of Storm and Aragorn as clearly as the others. Her earlier difficulty in trying to get more than a surface read of the hobbits was now overcome with only a minor mental adjustment, like fine tuning a radio dial. And when she tired of the echoes of others' thoughts, her shields lifted effortlessly and proved impregnable to the usual emotional leakage and mental drivel. As Gandalf led Jean to the Sun Dial garden where her friends practiced at swordplay with Aragorn, the smile of contentment she'd had since awaking that morning never left her face.

"Hey everybody, Jean's here!" shouted Rogue happily, taking a half step back from the Ranger.

Aragorn partly lowered his wooden practice blade and peered over his shoulder at the approaching figures. Rogue took the opportunity to leap forward and thwack him on his blind side, at which she laughed, "Gotchya, Strider. You forgot your first rule."

Aragorn shared her laugh, turning back from Jean he said, "I will better remember in the future to never turn my back on an enemy. Prepare you scamp!" Rogue quickly assumed an en-garde position, while the Ranger's face took on a hawkish grin. Feint-swipe parried-double feint-swipe and thwack! "Ouch, ouch, ouch," shrilled Rogue clutching at her hand while her practice blade flew through the air to be caught by Jean's telekinesis before it landed in a flowerbed.

"Her basic form looks good," stated Gandalf.

"It's true, she's improved noticeably in only a day." At Rogue's dubious look, he added, "Yesterday I'd have had your sword out on my first move. Break time everyone, I'm sure we'd all like to talk with our visitors."

"Sweet dress, Jean."

"Thanks Kitty. I guess we shouldn't be surprised Elves do good work with green."

"Ha," she laughed in response. "Sometimes mythological based stereotypes do turn out true. You should see mine, it's a Hunter Green. Yours is a much lighter green, but I love the gold boots, gold gloves, and gold sash they accessorized you with. The colors go great with your red hair."

"I like the contrast of the stark black triangle just below the neck too," opined Rogue.

"ooooh, some sort of jewelry, a necklace, resting on that black would make the whole thing really come together," added Kitty.

"Maybe you two can go into business one day with Middle Earth Fashion Wares," laughed Jean.

"No, no Jean, be serious, it has to have 'Elven' somewhere in the title," said Rogue.

"Totally," agreed Kitty. "That's like basic marketing."

* * *

After some further chit chat and a water break, Aragorn dutifully dragged the two girls and three hobbits back to practicing. Jean and Gandalf resumed their stroll through the Eden-like gardens of the Last Homely House. Occasionally they would encounter a passing elf who would greet them cheerfully enough.

(_odd. are all elves telepaths?_)

(_no, little bird, only a few are truly so. why do you ask?_)

(_i get no sense of their thoughts. or at least not the stray thoughts I overhear from frodo or pippin or kitty, and less so from aragorn. if i am close enough, my mind knows something is there, but i cannot give a form to it. my eyes see them, so i know what my mind is not able to cloth._ _I wondered if that meant they were also telepathic._)

(_curious. how do you see me?_)

(_similar, yet different. we have spoken, so i already have clues with which to cloth your psychic form in identifiers proclaiming, here is gandalf, wise and mighty and caring. _)

(_is that your perception me?_)

(_very much so. you remind me of the professor in many way._)

"And now?" Gandalf said aloud.

Jean blinked in total surprise. "You disappeared! I'm looking right at you, but you're …" and she waved a hand in front of the wizard. "… gone, completely. Much less there than an elf." She shivered at the psychic spookiness of his display. And then just as quickly the mental form of Gandalf returned.

(i_ possess strong natural 'shielding' as you once referred to it. i actively choose to withdrawl myself just then. could your professor hide himself so? _)

(_from me? almost certainly if he wanted. the professor is the strongest telepath on my world. cerebro _**[image of machine attached to jean's head] **_would offer the only chance to detect him, and that would rely as much on his bioenergetic projection as a mutant than on my actively detecting his mental form._)

"While we have time in Rivendell, it may prove interesting to explore a few of the differences between your mutant powers and the 'magical' ones provided through the Great Music and the Flame Imperishable to the likes of elves and myself."

"Not today please."

"Of course not, poor dear! You have barely been released from your cage. Enjoy the beauty of Elrond's home. Tonight he is planning a banquet to honor your return to health and the arrival of so many distinguished visitors."

"And tomorrow?"

"We shall listen to the counsel of Elrond, which unfortunately may prove a cage of a different nature."

* * *

The Feasting Hall of the Last Homely House was filled with the inhabitants of Rivendell, as well as many guests, both elven and those of other sorts. Elrond sat at the head of a long raised table with Gandalf on one side and the Elf Lord Glorfindel on the other. Midway down the table sat a beautiful elven woman clearly of the House of Elrond, his daughter Arwen. Aragorn, clad in dark green cloth, appearing washed up and dignified for a change, sat opposite the elven beauty. Frodo was surprised to find himself placed among folks so fair and mighty. Jean simply wished she could sit with her friends instead of strangers, no matter how pleasant. Sam, a still well bandaged Merry, and Pippin were placed at a side table not far from the dais and sat with the dwarf Gimli and the Elf Lord Neralad, who had accompanied them from the Bridge of Mitheithel to Rivendell. Storm, Kitty, and Rogue sat at a different side table in the company of Galdor, who had declined a place at Elrond's table in order to continue his conversations with the dark skinned lady whom he found exceptionally fascinating.

Frodo sat himself next to a particularly prosperous appearing dwarf, who turned out to be none other than Gloin, one of Bilbo's companions from his adventure to free the Lonely Mountain from the terrible dragon Smaug. After introductions, Frodo spent most of the meal allowing his companion to dominate the conversation with talk of Erebor and its expansion of wealth, skill, and size over the past sixty years under the leadership of its now venerable King Dain. Gloin also spoke freely of his journey to Rivendell, a much less strenuous one than he took long ago with Bilbo. Frodo learned too about the growth of the Kingdom of Dale, the doings of the Elves in Mirkwood, as well as the fierceness of the Beornings in the northern vale of the Anduin keeping open the High Pass and the Ford of Carrock. Frodo spared Gloin to a minimum of talk about the Shire, for though the dwarf had traversed under its fair skies a lifetime earlier, it seemed small, far-way, and unimportant now. The subject of Bilbo, about whom both were deeply fond, provided a topic each dinner guest could relay interesting anecdotes about. As dishes were cleared away, Frodo promised Gloin he would come and see the majesty of the Lonely Mountain someday were he ever able.

Jean's seat placed her between Elrond's deputy, Erestor, and a visiting craftswoman, Galduin. Erestor politely inquired how she had spent her time that day and where in Rivendell she had roamed on her walk with Gandalf. He civilly suggested other spots in the valley she might find joy at viewing or simply being. Conversation was stilted at best. Erestor spoke only in Westernesse so that Jean might understand, but unfortunately that language was not a strong point for the Elf Lady who had apparently come across the Misty Mountains recently with Elrond's daughter from some other community Jean never quite managed to catch the name of thanks to the elven way of assigning four different words to the same place. A dialogue did briefly develop when the mutant came to understand that Galduin worked in metals, including jewelry. The Elf Lady appeared interested to hear the descriptions of molten, wielded art from another world, and positively perked up when Jean mentioned a desire for some sort of necklace of her own. But her end of the table turned positively frigid, and Galduin aghast, when Jean suggested acquiring a piece with a bird motif. At least the meal tasted splendidly, thought Jean, even if the company left much to be desired.

* * *

With the feast at an end, Elrond and Arwen rose and led the gathered company out of the hall, across a wide passage, and through a set of doors into a further hall of equal size. It held no tables, but many chairs gathered in an arc around a great hearth containing a great fire. Jean found herself walking in with Gandalf.

"This is the Hall of Fire. It usually stands empty, a place where people come for solitude and thought. But tonight, we will hear many songs and tales."

"Hopefully this will be more entertaining than the company I kept at dinner. Why did Frodo and I get stuck at the old folks table instead of with our friends?"

"Oh, I am hurt," Gandalf replied with a light voice and smile across his face. Quickly turning serious, he then responded formally to Jean's question. "As to your earlier placement, it was a matter of respect. Frodo, by his burden as The Ring Bearer, is esteemed to the utmost in the House of Elrond."

"And myself?"

"You destroyed one of the Nine."

"Which I don't remember."

"Nevertheless, the removal of such evil places you among the heroes of renown. Do not be surprised tonight if you find an ode or song has already been composed about your battle at the Mitheithel."

'Greeeaaatttt' Jean thought to herself. Gandalf reading her obvious body language grinned impishly at Jean's discomfort.

* * *

Frodo hung back in the passageway outside the Hall of Fire until his friends caught up to him. By the time they entered, the hall was filling nicely, if slowly. They wove between pillars to move closer to the fireplace. In doing so, they spotted a small dark figure seated on a stool with his back propped against a support, his head tucked down to his breast. "It's Bilbo," yelped Pippin, nudging Sam with one arm and pointing toward the elderly hobbit with the other. All four hobbits maneuvered over to him.

"Bilbo, wake up," Frodo whispered into his ear.

"Hullo, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo. "And I wasn't asleep. I was thinking."

"If you weren't asleep, why didn't you come to the Feast?" asked Merry.

"I don't go in for such things much anymore. As each year passes, I feel a little more stretched, and parts of me get a bit thinner. Suppose that's why I only nibble a crumb here, a morsel there."

"Well perhaps tonight's music will fill you up some, sir," said Sam reassuringly.

"I should think so," replied Bilbo with some enthusiasm. "Master Elrond has graciously allowed me to perform a song I've been working on. Luckily, The Dunadan arrived with you all and he's been able to help me with a last few tricky lines, so now it is complete."

"That Strider has more names than you can shake a stick at," declared Pippin. At that, minstrels began a flourish of sweet music on harps, lutes, and flutes to announce the beginning of the evening's entertainment.

* * *

Gandalf had wandered off a while earlier. Jean had spent some time with her friends, but now they too had dispersed to pursue different avenues of interest. Now she was alone and feeling rather forlorn. Those elves around her were silent, and intent upon the instrumental music. Even if they did speak, it would be incomprehensible elvish to her anyway. With nothing else left to do, Jean began to listen to the complex sounds and harmonies of a near alien musical tradition. The piece ended with tones of sadness. Elrond stood and announced the next song, or at least that was what Jean thought she understood.

His daughter Arwen then arose and took her place, without instrument, among the musicians. The initial chords were struck and a tempo established. Then Arwen opened her mouth, and at the first words she sung … "_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,silivren penna míriel …" _… all the hairs on Jean's neck stood straight on end. With her mind's eye, from the not quite empty space occupied by Arwen, Jean witnessed a golden glow burst forth and bathe all the other not quite empty spaces in the Hall with a gilt of sunshine and serenity. The mental projections of Storm, Kitty, Rogue, the hobbits, and all the other non-elves shifted too, rendered tranquil by the growing spell of Arwen's beautiful, powerful song. The very air throbbed around her, a bit like the aura of Rivendell itself, only intensified a hundred fold, filling her with an indescribable unity to everyone present. The unknown words took shapes and visions opened out before Jean, taking on a dreamlike state that flowed rivers of emotions through her soul. Tears slowly welled up in her eyes at the overwhelming emotions.

Gandalf stepped up to the happy, yet confused woman and whispered in her ear. "Elves are as close to embodying magic as any being born on Arda. Even the weakest elf may touch a bit of the magic of the Imperishable Flame through Eru's gift of song. When a great elven lord or lady sings, the experience is … transformative. I am pleased you are able to experience it."

Jean nodded, then wiped the tears from her eyes. Fearing she could survive not another moment of the exquisite, beautiful torture, she turned away from the wizard and started to walk out of the Hall. Stopping at the doors, she looked back for a last time at the delicate, strong, attractive grey clad singer. Arwen, catching Jean's movement, turned toward her, and the light of her eyes fell on Jean and pierced her heart.


	10. Chapter 10 - Counsels

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 10 – Counsels**

Jean awoke early the next morning, feeling refreshed and vibrant. She walked along the banks of the Bruinen, watching the rising sun slip through the gaps of the already snow covered peaks of the Misty Mountains. After a while, the sounds of her stomach began to match the bubbling noise of the running water below. She turned back to the Last Homely House and discovered her friends already present in the Feasting Hall. Upon the completion of breakfast, Storm dragged her and the two teenagers to the Library, where, with the help of the seemingly always present Elf Lord Galdor, the snow haired mutant proceeded to enlighten her fellow X-men on the geography and current political structures of Middle Earth.

As they talked a single clear note peeled out. "That is the warning bell for the Council of Elrond," announced Galdor. "I believe both you, Storm, and you, Jean, are wanted in attendance, as am I."

"Hey, we're not chopped liver," declared Kitty.

"Of course you are not, dear," replied Storm. "But think, do you want to sit around for hours listening to all those moldy old folks drone on and on and on?"

"Well, I suppose not," Kitty reluctantly answered.

"Aragorn will be in attendance too, so why don't you surprise him by practicing on your own today?"

"Alright, c'mon Rogue. Let's see if any of the guys want to take turns chopping at us."

"Storm?" asked Rogue in a small voice. "Are you going to ask if they can help us get home?"

"Definitely, child," said Storm in her most reassuring tone.

Nodding their heads in acceptance, both girls turned down the hall outside the Library to go grab their gear from their room. The two adult mutants followed Galdor in the opposite direction.

* * *

They arrived on a terrace warmed by the morning's autumn sun. The gurgling of the nearby Bruinen and the song of birds filled the air with a calming, pleasant sensation. Many had already gathered, all seated in silence. Elrond sat on a marble bench with Frodo on one side of him and Gandalf on the other. Glorfindel and Elrond's chief counselor Erestor perched together. Biblo shared space with his old travelling companion Gloin and Gloin's son Gimli. Another dwarf, a prosperous Broadbeam merchant named Azaghal who happened to be visiting Rivendell, stood beside them, to provide a voice for the delfs of the Ered Luin. Aragorn, no longer dressed as fine as the night before, took a corner to himself, leaning against a wall of the Last Homely House. The craftswoman Galduin, recently arrived from Lothlorien, took her own spot, acting as the eyes and voice of her kin Galadriel and Celeborn. Several other advisers to Elrond, all at least known by sight to the two mutants, were present, including the warrior lord Celethir. One unknown elf stood among them, as Galdor directed the ladies to the last remaining bench, he whispered to them, "That one is Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood."

When the last participant arrived and found a place, Elrond stood. "My friends, beside me is the hobbit Frodo, son of Drogo, and adopted heir to his kinsman Bilbo. He has arrived at Rivendell through a perilous journey, safe in main part thanks to the ladies Jean and Storm," at which he inclined his head toward the two X-men, "as well as Mithrandir. Few have ever come hither on an errand more urgent. Sauron now actively extends his power beyond the black land of Mordor. He sends his agents across all of Middle Earth, wreaking havoc and seeking _that_ which was lost. Soon, he will issue forth in war against the last, free bastions of elves, dwarves and men to wrest utter domination over all of Middle Earth. Let us seek counsel together on how to resist the coming darkness."

"Master, remind those of us who once knew and inform those yet unaware, what Gorthaur, the Dark Lord, seeks and why he does so," requested Erestor.

All listened while Elrond spoke of Sauron and the forging of the Rings of Power in the Second Age of Middle Earth. He detailed how the false face of that Maia ensnared the elven-smiths of Eregion with aid to make mighty rings of power for elves, dwarves, and men, while secretly in the fires of Mount Doom he forged the One Ring with which to rule the others. The conflict between Numenor and Sauron he portrayed next and that even as a hostage on that island, Sauron caused the ruin of its glory and even to its very destruction. And then he told of how that led to the coming of Elendil and his sons Isildur and Anarion from the Sea to found the Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. But Sauron, never content, assailed them too, resulting in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. Battles by the hosts of Gil-galad and Elendil were briefly described until he gave a full on recitation of the final attack on the slopes of Orodruin, Mount Doom.

Here, in detail, for Elrond admitted his presence at the battle as the herald of Gil-galad, he described the deaths of both his King and the noble Numenorean Elendil, where the mighty blade Narsil shattered. The tale he wove made those on the terrace who were present at the horrific fight to fear for its outcome, though they already knew it, till the Elf Lord depicted how Isildur gathered the broken sword of his father and used it to cut the One Ring off of Sauron's hand, destroying him. Elrond lamented how Isildur took his weregild, his bane, refusing to cast it into the fires of Mount Doom, thus ensuring Sauron would not remain destroyed forever, nor his dark tower, Barad-dur.

After a pause to re-experience the monumental glow at the opportunity lost to all Middle Earth, Elrond continued the tale of the Ring and how Isildur carried it north, only to be killed and the Ring lost at Gladden Fields. The only fruit to escape that disaster were the two pieces of Narsil, brought to Rivendell and given to Isildur's heir. An heirloom still carried this day by the current heir of Numenor's glory. Alas the glory of the northern Kingdom of Arnor became a bare ember of its past splendor, and Elrond related its demise through a long grinding war with Angmar, led by Sauron's chief minion, and holder of one of the Nine Rings of Man, the Witch King. He ended this brief history of the Third Age by speaking of the slowly declining fortunes of the Southern Kingdom, Gondor, and its many battles with the evils that had crept back into Mordor. This included Sauron's open declaration of return seventy years earlier when he began to build Barad-dur anew.

"And now the part of the tale that I shall tell is complete. But the peril is not gone, it grows worse, for the One Ring has been found. Now others, with a role in its finding, shall speak." And with that, Elrond returned to his seat.

* * *

A quiet fell upon the terrace, several faces turned expectantly to look at Gandalf. After a long minute's wait, the grey wizard aimed a smile at the fidgeting form of Bilbo and caught his eye, "My friend, this embodiment of evil, lay hidden from the sight of elf, man, and dwarf for nigh three thousand years. It is time you shined the light of a doughty hobbit's brave heart on this very large gap in the story."

"If I must," said Bilbo reluctantly. "If the truth I tell now does not match with the tale some here have already heard from me in the past, I beg there forgiveness," at which point he glanced quickly at Gloin next to him. "I delighted, perhaps too much so, in people valuing the talents they believed me to have; and, wanted not to carry the shame of thief with my name." And with a born storyteller's panache, the elderly hobbit launched into the tale of his separation from the dwarven party in the dark goblin caves and tunnels beneath the Misty Mountains, his chance discovery of a simple seeming ring, and then his meeting with the sad and dreadful creature Gollum. He relayed all the riddles that passed between the two of them, Gollum's anger, and his own desperate escape. Then summarized how he had discovered and used the Ring's talent for turning him invisible to assist with the rest of the journey, the destruction of Smaug, and the Battle of the Five Armies. He then would have continued to describe his use of it all the way through to the disappearance at his hundredth birthday party, but Elrond raised his hand to stop his small friend and guest of long standing.

"Well told," declared the Master of Rivendell. "Let it suffice for us gathered here to know that you bravely laid aside the Ring for your heir, Frodo. Let him now bring the story to today's council. Frodo?"

Frodo rose slowly, more reluctant even than Bilbo, to tell of his dealings with the One Ring. Regardless of his misgivings, he pressed on starting with Gandalf's caution the very first day of his ownership with the words 'Do be careful of that ring.' Frodo admitted that Bilbo had long since told him the true story of the Ring's acquisition from Gollum. The doings of himself, the Ring, and the Shire over the next seventeen and a half years, as he always kept the ring on a chain around his neck, needed only a few words to carry the story forward to the most recent spring, and the return, after a long absence, of the grey wizard to Bag End. Frodo then described how Gandalf spoke of the nine rings of man, which created the Ringwraiths, the seven dwarven rings, the three great elven rings, and the One Ring, which the wizard feared Bilbo had discovered and he now owned.

"Gandalf warned me that the Dark Lord of Mordor now knew the Ring was not destroyed and had heard of hobbits and our association with it. Gollum, that creature under the mountains, apparently had left his caves in search of the Ring, and before being captured and brought to Gandalf, had wandered far and wide, even into Mordor. Then to prove the truth of the Ring and its danger, Gandalf asked me for it." This comment elicited a few gasps. "I did so, but it was difficult to hand it over. Immediately Gandalf tossed it into the fireplace. Alarmed, I hopped over to extract my preciii … the Ring, but he stopped me. Minutes passed, and from my vantage I could see no change to the plain gold band as it lay bathed in the heat of the hearth. Eventually Gandalf removed it from the hot embers with a pair of tongs and dropped the Ring straight in my hand. It was cool, not hot, to the touch. At his direction I held it up and saw a flowery elvish script. Gandalf rendered those words into Common and read aloud to me, 'One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.'"

All those present old enough to remember the Last Alliance of Elves and Men caught their breaths at the utterance of that phrase. "Gandalf declared there was no doubt this was the master ring, the One Ring, and that it must not return to the Dark Lord, for it would give him the strength to beat down all resistance. I feared for the Shire and what horrors his minions of wolfs, orcs, and other vile beasts would inflict on it in search of this wretched device. I did not want this burden so I begged Gandalf to take the Ring, but he refused as though the offer burned him. He told me he would help me find a way to destroy it, but it must be soon, for he said 'the Enemy is moving.' So I knew I must take it and leave the Shire for a safer place from which to guard this trouble. Around then Gandalf noticed my gardener, Sam," and a small hobbit head bobbed up from behind a pedestal on the terrace at the mention of his name, "eavesdropping through a window and snatched him up to place him into our plans."

"Weeks passed and we decided upon Rivendell as the haven to seek. At midsummer Gandalf left, claiming an errand from which he would return in not too long as to be still able to accompany my travels. I waited and waited, but he did not return. Knowing I must still move forward I gathered my friends, including Merry and Pippin who are currently someplace else here in Elrond's home, and devised a plan for a secret escape from the Shire. We organized, yet still waited for the hoped for return of Gandalf. Autumn arrived and I knew the four of us could wait no longer, so we left just after my birthday, an auspicious time I'd hoped, but on my way out of Bag End, I secretly came upon a Black Rider, and he was asking after me. We narrowly avoided Black Riders several more times, once by the appearance of Gildor and his band of elves. We crossed the Brandywine and made our way into the Old Forrest, hoping to elude them, but found ourselves trapped by the wood itself. We were freed from the mysteries of the Old Forrest Tom Bombadil, who hosted us right gently, and saw us off to the Barrow Downs. We did not heed Tom's warnings well enough and got ourselves captured by a Barrow-wight who brought us to his den."

"If possible, the this tale now turns even stranger. Fearing for our doom, I called for Tom as he had taught me, but he did not turn up. However, the Ladies Storm and Jean did, along with their companions Rogue and Kitty. They rescued us from the Barrow-wight with displays of elf like magic and escorted us to Bree, where we encountered Aragorn, over there, going by the name of Strider. We did not all trust each other exactly at first, but we managed. Then, finally, Gandalf arrived, except there was something about him that irked the ladies fierce. Again, we managed, and a wary truce set in, lucky that it did, for that very night six Black Riders attacked us in Bree. Gandalf held the gate to the Inn, while Storm brought down lightning bolts and Jean using her mind picked up and flung burning bales of hale at them. Injured they fled, letting us continue the next morning toward Rivendell."

"Out of sight of Bree, Gandalf, having acquired a great steed, took me alone up with him, so that we might outrace the broken Black Riders before they could regroup themselves. Nevertheless, they ambushed us twice on the way, though Gandalf proved their better both times. We arrived in Rivendell eleven days ago and here I be. My friends, on pony and foot, followed us here, not without their own terrible fight at the Mitheithel with the vile Nazguls. Of their battle, I will not speak, for I was not there. Though the story does not seem complete to me, I will leave it to others to say what must still be said." With that, Frodo gave a small bow to the Council and sat back down next to Elrond.

* * *

Gloin quickly stood to gather the Council's attention. "The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, in who's service my friend Bilbo found this accursed artifact of Mordor, may still have some vital nugget to add to the hoard of knowledge gathering here today. I am proud to say my people have grown in the years since a hobbit assisted us in restoring Erebor from the last dragon. Perhaps we are not as skilled as our forefathers in some feats, regardless, under King Dain we prosper, and most of my kin have been well satisfied in what we have wrought. Nor we do not forget our friends or our debts. Hear then the reason that brought me and my son on the long journey west from our homes to this abode over the Misty Mountains."

"A little more than a year ago, a messenger arrived by horse in the night outside the gate to Erebor. He called for Dain and when asked why we should disturb the King's slumber at such an hour, he announced he came from Mordor with words from his lord, Sauron the Great. Such a pronouncement stirred the very mountain itself. Dain came to have speech with this minion of the dark, but did so from the gate, not granting its stench admittance to our home. The man, if it was truly such, stated our friendship was greatly desired by his Lord and as a gift to secure it, rings, like those he gave of ancient times long gone by, would be granted us. And as a token of this new friendship, to secure this magnanimous gift, all that was requested was for us to tell what we knew of hobbits and where they dwelt. He declared the mighty Sauron knew that previously we of the Lonely Mountain had had discourse with such a being as a hobbit."

"Dain, knowing of what, and more particularly of whom, this creature spoke was troubled and gave no answer. The silence moved the creature to reveal more. He said that there was a particular hobbit, a thief, who had once stolen a ring, a littlest of rings, from his Master, and his Lord now fancied its return. Knowledge of hobbits would ensure the return of one of the rings the Dwarf-sires possessed of old. But if, if we found this hobbit and returned the stolen ring ourselves, then Mordor's friendship would know no limits. Then his Lord would grant us three of those rings, and what's more, he would again make us masters of Moria, Khazad-dum, the mightiest work and long lost home of our fathers."

"Why the temptation of Moria, the dream of every dwarf of my ilk? Did the Dark Lord know my kinsman Balin had led some thousand dwarves to Moria thirty years ago, never to be heard from again? Then, like a snake, this messenger, still discomforted by Dain's silence, spat out that if we did not lend aid, things would soon seem not so well for us."

"Still, brave as the great dwarf he is, Dain took his time to respond, eventually stating, 'I say neither yea nor nay. I must consider this message and what it means under its fair cloak.' 'Consider well, but not too long,' this minion warned. Unbowed, my King replied, 'The time of my thought is my own to spend.' 'For the present,' came the final response and this thing rode back into the darkness that had earlier birthed it."

"Twice more this messenger has come with his promises and threats, to which Dain continues to refuse to answer. At the most recent visitation, the lackey announced he would come one last time before the end of the year, and any lack of response will then be taken as a 'no'. The King and all who advise him are under no pretense of the menace and deceit of Mordor. We also discovered messengers had visited King Brand in Dale. Words from our scouts have returned telling us of the gathering of men and materials for war on our southern and eastern borders. At last, remembering our friend, King Dain sent me west to alert Bilbo that he is sought by the Enemy. Also to we wanted to share counsel with Elrond on the growing shadows in the East."

"You have done well to come to Rivendell," said Elrond. "We hear your troubling words on the grip Mordor seeks to extend over Middle Earth, and the further confirmation of the Dark Lord's search for his lost Ring."

* * *

Galdor stepped forward. "Frodo is here, and I am glad of it. He states he carries what Gandalf, most wise of councilors, has told him is the One Ring. All here trust Mithrandir. And certainly Frodo has been chased by the Ringwraith servants of the Enemy, and I cherish his strong heart for willfully accepting what would be the heaviest of burdens to any of us here. Yet, yet I feel no presence of evil before us, no sense of doom, no glimmer of unearthly power. How are we to be assured that that which Frodo possesses is in fact the manufacture of Sauron, an object we would surely seek to remove somehow from Middle Earth. It would ill behoove us to send anyone on a fool's errand into danger."

"Frodo," called Gandalf in a strained voice. "Show us the ring."

Reaching slowly into his shirt top, he pulled forth a chain around which rested a simple, plain gold ring. All necks craned and eyes strained to view it.

"Place it over there, on the rock in the fountain, so all may gander at it freely."

With hesitance, the hobbit complied with his friend's request. Jean and Storm followed Galdor over to look at the meagerest of trinkets, that which had placed their lives in such danger. Several others ventured over too, seeking to satisfy their curiosity on the valid question raised by the Elf from the Havens.

"I see no scratches or hints of a design or lettering," said Storm.

[_hold me_]

"Remember my lady, Frodo said Gandalf used fire to draw forth the hidden inscription."

[_join me_]

"Of course. Farbeit for one with the least standing here to ask, but do you think we could …?"

[_return me_]

"Perhaps."

[_become me_]

"What do you think Jean?"

"Hunh? What Storm?" responded a startled Jean.

"Do you think we should ask to drop this thing of Frodo's back in a fire so we can see the script Gandalf saw?"

Before Jean could summon an answer, Galdor spoke up. "Master Elrond and Mithrandir, would it be possible to again place the Ring in fire, so we may all see the ancient inscription?"

Two sets of eyebrows quickly rose, betraying the mental calculations being made over the possible implications, good and bad, of permitting the request. Elrond answered first. "I suppose it would do no harm. Now if Frodo would retrieve The Ring, we may proceed to the Hall of Fire. That should prove suitable."

"No wait," choked out Jean. "I can …" and the red haired mutant held out a hand. The Ring rose a foot in the air above its resting place. The entire council gasped. The tension on the terrace rose to a level of almost physical vibration. Both Gandalf and Elrond reached within themselves, touching their sources of power. A flame appeared beneath the Ring. The flame grew and defined itself into the shape of a bird's talons. The talons rose, grasping the Ring, hiding it from few. The moment lengthened, tensions unresolved. Steam erupted out of the fountain beneath, caused by the intense heat emitting from the fiery claw. Jean jerked her hand back and the flame disappeared. The Ring fell and bounced around inside the now dry bowl of the fountain.

"How did I do that?" Jean whispered.

* * *

"Peace! Calm!" shouted Glorfindel, as soon as Jean's flame gutted out, causing the release of everyone's tension in a verbal outpouring of startlement, fear, and outrage.

"Fear not, that was only the flame with which Lady Jean destroyed the Nazgul by the Bridge of the Mitheithel," declared Aragorn loudly.

Elves, dwarves, and hobbits stepped aside as Storm escorted a stunned Jean back to a bench, through many a loud whisper of "_Narwilinien_." Once seated, Sam came out from behind his hiding place to hold her hand. Immediately detecting how icy cold it was, he started rubbing both together vigorously, while murmuring words of encouragement, "Its fine Ms. Jean. They are just surprised is all. Imagine that, you havin' a magic to startle even Elves."

In the hullabaloo, Galdor, using an edge of his cloak, picked up The Ring and held it up into a ray of sunshine. He felt no heat from it, though the dry bowl of the fountain bottom had near burned to his guarded touch. A fine, lightly etched elven script, a perversion of elven script, could now be clearly seen on the Ring. In a voice he saved for commanding the deck of a ship in a storm, Galdor read the words in Sauron's vile language of Mordor.

"_Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul_"

The hullabaloo stopped at the loudly spoken, blasphemously warped elven language of Mordor. A shadow passed over the hearts of those old enough to remember and they closed their minds to the words. Galdor himself trembled at the language and words he said, but did not stop the recitation of the Ring's engraving.

"Galdor, never before has a voice dared utter that tongue in Imaldris," stated Elrond sternly into the silence Galdor's words created.

"And let us hope none ever speak it here again," added Gandalf. "To those who do not know the black language of Mordor, which Sauron created as a depraved version of Sindarin, hear then the words just spoken.

"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them."

"Those are near enough the words Bilbo's heir, Frodo, spoke during his tale," declared Gloin. "By my gentle hosts' reactions, they are clearly of import to the history of the Ring. How did you come by this Ring lore Master Gandalf, so you knew to look for it this past Spring when you visited the Shire?"

Bilbo piped up with his own question, "And speaking of the Shire, why weren't you there to accompany poor Frodo from the start of his dangerous journey, Gandalf? I never heard an accounting. Lucky chance you met them at The Prancing Pony. And lucky they met the ladies too."

"These ladies, who are they?" interjected Erestor, looking over at Jean with a displeased countenance. "Where do they come from? Why have they chosen to aid the Ring Bearer? Is not the convenient timing of their appearance suspicious? What are their powers? And how do they come by them, for they do not touch the Imperishable Flame?"

Galdor, having returned the Ring to the fountain during all the questions, added his own query, "Why is Saruman not among us? He is the most learned of us all in the Ring. How does he counsel us?"

"Many of these questions are bound together," said Elrond. "They shall be answered to the best of our ability in this Council. It is now the part of Gandalf to make these things clearer so we may chart a course against the gathering doom. Frodo, best retrieve the Ring ere Gandalf begins."

Frodo scampered to the Fountain and saw the Ring resting there. "The necklace. I kept _it_ secure on a necklace, but that's gone, melted. I'd rather not put _it _in my pocket."

"Bring it here Frodo. I have enough baubles to spare," uttered Gloin, as he unclasped a strong silver colored strand from around his broad neck. "You hobbits have a strong way of accumulating dwarven treasure," he joked to Frodo in the chain's passing.

* * *

"With the pursuit of Frodo, the dour tidings of Gloin, and the flaming revelation spoken by Galdor," began Gandalf, "t'would think it enough to assure us we have a treasure deeply coveted by the Enemy. We know the Ringwraiths hold the nine rings, though with the incineration of one, perhaps a single band has become available."

"We saw no sign of it at the Mitheithel, Mithrandir," announced Glorfindel. "Both Aragorn and I sought long for a clue of it."

Gandalf nodded at the First Born Elf Lord's declaration. "The Seven are taken or accounted destroyed by dragon fire. The gifting of the Three were known of by the Wise of the Second Age. Only the One lay unaccounted for, if we believe what Frodo bears to be truly it, between its loss by Isildur at Gladden Fields and Bilbo's discovery of it under the mountains. But much of that knowledge I have gained, and alas, so it has been learned by the Enemy. I should have sought the truth sooner, but I was lulled by the words of Saruman the Wise. Now our peril is great indeed."

"We were all at fault," responded Elrond. "Without your efforts, perhaps the Darkness would already be upon us. Continue."

"From the moment I discovered the full story from Bilbo of how he had 'won' his trinket, I wondered how this creature Gollum had came to possess it. So I set a watch guessing he would venture forth from his caves to search for it. I guessed correctly, but he escaped and I foolishly let the matter lapse whilest I worried about other matters. As the years passed, my worries seemed to return again and again to my hobbit friend's ring, for I became aware of spies gathering round the Shire. I shared my concerns with Aragorn, chief of the Dunedain, and he doubled the watch over the Halflings."

"And I went with Gandalf on the long search for the cold trail of Gollum," said Aragorn.

"We roamed the edges of the Misty Mountains, crossed the Anduin, sought signs in the twisted trees of the Dol Guldur corrupted regions of Mirkwood, explored the length of the Wilderland, and even investigated the boundaries of Mordor, the Ered Lithui and the Ephel Duath. We had rumor of him, but we never found him. I despaired, yet in my doubts I recalled half remembered words of Saruman's."

"'The Nine, the Seven, and the Three had each their proper gem. Not so the One. It was round and unadorned, as it were one of the lesser rings; but its maker set marks upon it that the skilled, maybe, could still see and read.' Perhaps I thought I could test the ring itself to discover if it were the One. But what marks? Only the hand of Sauron had held the Ring. But wait, of course that was not true, Isildur's hand had."

"With that I left Aragorn alone to continue the chase. After the end of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Isildur rested a time in Gondor before taking his fateful journey that ended at Gladden Fields. In times previous, the Stewards of Gondor had well treated the members of my order, particularly Saruman, who spent more time there than most. This time Lord Denethor showed me a cold welcome and only begrudgingly allowed me to search among his hoard of scrolls and books. But this quest was not in vain, at last I found a scroll made by Isildur himself. On it, he described The Ring, such as he found it:"

'_It was hot when I first took it, hot as a glede, and my hand was scorched, so that I doubt if ever again I shall be free of the pain of it. Yet even as I write it is cooled, and it seemeth to shrink, though it loseth neither its beauty nor its shape. Already the writing upon it, which at first was as clear as red flame, fadeth and is now only barely to be read. It is fashioned in an elven-script of Eregion, for they have no letters in Mordor for such subtle work; but the language is unbeknown to me. I deem it to be a tongue of the Black Land, since it is foul and uncouth. What evil it saith I do not know; but I trace here a copy of it, lest it fade beyond recall. The Ring misseth, maybe the heat of Sauron's hand, which was black and yet burned like fire, and so Gil-galad was destroyed; and maybe were the gold made hot again, the writing would be refreshed. But for my part I will risk no hurt to this thing; of all the works of Sauron the only fair. It is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain._'

"With these words my quest ended, for the traced writing was indeed as Isildur guessed, in the tongue of Mordor, and matched the vile speech, thanks to Galdor, we now already know. Taking leave of Denethor, word soon reached me from Lorien that Aragorn had passed that way having found the creature Gollum. I went to Mirkwood, where we had agreed to take this thing ever were he caught."

"Day and night I marched him, bound in a halter, and gagged so his teeth would not find me," said Aragorn. "Eventually, the lack of food and water tamed him some. Glad I was to turn him over to the Elves of Thranduil, for he stank and spoke endless madness. I pitied Gandalf the long speeches he planned for the creature."

"Long and weary indeed were the speeches," said Gandalf, "but not without profit. I learned that Gollum had once been a hobbit like creature named Smeagol who lived along the Anduin near to Gladden Fields, and that was where he discovered the Ring and killed his first person for wanting to take his 'birthday present', for that is what he thought of the Ring, from him. Also too I discovered the Ring had lengthened his years many, many times past the natural extent of his small kind. I now knew why my friend Bilbo had seemed never too age, and was glad I convinced him to willingly give up his burden before it twisted him beyond recognition."

"Know also, my friends, I learned more dread news from Gollum. It is beyond doubt that he went into Mordor and all he knew was pried out of him, if possible breaking an already broken creature even more. The Enemy knows the One is found and resided after Gollum with a person from the Shire. Can there be any doubt with his minions seeking Frodo and attacking us? Word will now not take long to reach the Dark Tower and Sauron will know the thing he desires above all others now resides here!"

The Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, son of Thranduil, previously silent at the Council, now stood. "Alas Master Gandalf, this is the correct moment for me to divulge the report I have been commanded to carry. Gollum has escaped the guard we of Mirkwood were entrusted to place over him."

"How?" cried Aragorn bitterly, remembering the efforts taken to capture the vile creature.

"Hoping to improve his condition, we would on occasion allow him into the woods under a stiff guard. One such time he climbed a tall tree and refused to come down. Whilest waiting for thirst and hunger to drive him back down, we were ambushed by a party of orcs. Upon driving them off, Gollum was not to be found. We came upon his trail, among the foot prints of the surviving orcs, heading south through the wood. We tracked them day and night till they came under the shadow of Dol Guldur, an evil place still, where we gave up the hunt for the numbers of beasts gathered there grew too many for our number to contend with."

"Well he is gone," said Gandalf resignedly. "Maybe or maybe not he will play a part yet that no one can foresee."

"Next, I will answer the questions of Saruman and my lateness in aiding Frodo, for those two stories are sorely tied together."

* * *

"I rode to the southern border of the Shire in late June to assuage a growing sense of foreboding. Alas, I found messages awaiting me, telling me of the extending Black Shadow and Mordor waging war a new upon Gondor. A few fugitives I met also, too fearful to speak. I travelled over to the Greenway, heading north to discover what other news may have eluded me. Not far from Bree, I was surprise to come upon a member of my Order, Radagast the Brown. Many were the years since I had last laid eyes on him. 'Gandalf! I was seeking you.' Radagast shouted upon spotting me. He announced he was on an urgent errand for the Nine were abroad again, having secretly crossed the Anduin, heading west. At that moment I knew the cause of my foreboding," said Gandalf.

"Then Radagast informed me that the Black Riders asked after the Shire wherever they rode. When I questioned him on the source of this information, he identified Saruman, and stated the other half of his errand was to let me know that the head of our order would aid me if I came to him in Isengard at once. Before I parted with Radagast, I luckily requested of him, 'We shall need your help, send out messages to all the beasts and birds that are your friends. Tell them to bring news of anything that bears to Saruman and Gandalf at Orthanc.'"

"With that, he rode off at a trot. The day was already late and I was tired. I also need to get a message off to Frodo, so I spent the night in nearby Bree, at Butterbur's establishment. To him, I left a message addressed for Bag End. To know what danger that jolly fat man put you in, my dear Frodo, by forgetting to deliver that note, I barely dare to think it. Luck and fate placed you secure in the hands of your lady friends."

"My long journey south began the next morning. The Tower of Orthanc resides in the ring of Isengard at the bottom of the Misty Mountains, near the Gap of Rohan. Days later, in the evening, I entered the sole gate. As I made my way to the tower, sudden apprehension assailed me, but I unfortunately ignored it as Saruman met me and led be to his high chamber. What had I to fear? Saruman is the greatest of my Order, long studied in the lore of the Enemy, and creator of weapons strong enough to pain even that terrible shade."

"He gave me a welcome of sorts, but one parsed with back biting and arrogance. He declared himself no more as 'The White," but to have become 'Saruman of Many Colours.' Then he told me the Elder days were gone and the Middle ones fading. This Saruman tried to convince me that with a new power rising, that 'The Wise, such as you and I, may with patience come at last to direct its courses, to control it. We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, aiming for the ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, Order;' for which I rebuked him that such words came from the likes of minions of Mordor. I feared at the strange alteration of my comrade, but I soon discovered I did not fear near enough."

"Then Saruman spoke to me of that fearsome instrument of which he had only before implied, 'And why not, Gandalf? Why not? The Ruling Ring? If we could command that, then the Power would pass to us.' I chided him that only a single hand could wield that power and then I rebuked, 'I would not give even news of it to you, now that I learn your mind. You were head of the Council, but you have unmasked yourself at last.' At that he gave up using his silky words to seduce me into revealing the location of the Ring. His mind assailed mine. He battered at me. He pried. He tricked. He offered mercy. My despair at being trapped and revealing my secrets matched the agony he inflicted. This was a contest I never wished to attempt again. Finally, Saruman, worried my body would die before my mind cracked, relented. His guards carried me to the pinnacle of Orthanc, my jail, in hope that time, lonilines, and lack of sustenance would reduce me where a direct battle of wills had failed."

"From the vantage of my prison, I could see how Saruman had turned the entire valley within Isengard into a mighty forge for war. Men and orcs now worked in smoke filled pits to build the sinews. Wargs joined them to practice with still hot weapons in fields once fair and green. Clearly, Saruman was mustering a force of his own to join or rival Sauron's. And I was alone in the clouds, with no chance to escape."

"My request to Radagast many weeks earlier then proved my salvation. My worries about my brown colleague during my confinement about his being turned by Sarumen were unfounded, he had indeed done as I requested and asked his friends for aid, the Eagles of the Mountains flew far and wide, noting the many comings, goings, and gatherings of all types of vile beasts, even that of the Nine. In the middle of September, on a moon filled night, a messenger from the Great Eagles came to Orthanc, Gwaihir. He found me standing on the pinnacle, and after only a few words, bore me away to Edoras, so I might gain a steed from the King of the Horse-lords."

"And what of valiant Rohan?" asked Aragorn. "So close to the treacherous tongue of Saruman?"

"His lies are already at work there. They pay tribute in horse flesh, even unto Mordor, according to Gwaihir. King Theoden turned a lean ear on my pleas for aid and would hear nothing ill of Saruman. I fear the only reason I was allowed a horse was to hasten my exit from his presence. But what a horse I did take."

"Shadowfax flies like the wind, day and night, as long his mount has strength to remain seated," declared Frodo, while he unconsciously rubbed his bottom remembering his hard ride.

"Several days was the effort to calm him sufficient to suffer my presence, for never before had man mounted him. No saddle would he suffer either. Yet that loss of time mattered not, so speedily did this silver horse from the dawn of the world carry me northward. Over Westmark to the Fords of Isen, across Enedwaith to Tharbad on the Greyflood, through old Cardolan, till on the tenth day since my escape I crossed Sarn's Ford and came at last to the Shire. The further north I journeyed, the more rumors I heard of the Black Riders. Fear was ever in my heart for Frodo, but I could only hope he had long since left his home at the urging of my letter. The next day I came to Hobbiton and discovered from the Gaffer, Sam's father, poor Frodo had only departed six days earlier. My heart beat a note of panic with each step as Shadowfax galloped us over to Buckland to check on the house in Crickhollow he had purchased as part of his deception. It lay broken open and empty. Near crazed, I tried to track down a Black Rider, wanting to capture and torture one so grievously till it told me what had become of my friend."

"Reason eventually returned and I noted that several Black Riders seemed headed toward Bree, so that way I went too. Lo and behold, the hope still nurturing deep in my bosom proved truthful. Frodo and his three compatriots were safe in Bree at the Prancing Pony. But not alone, they stood in company with my friend and helper Aragorn, as well as four unusual ladies of great strength who had already proven themselves Frodo's champions and fighters of evil. That night they added to their acclaim, helping to drive off six Ringwraiths with their inner born magic and deep wellsprings of courage."

"Yes, they are strong," interrupted Erestor. "You sing a pretty song of them, but where do they come from?"

"The world is complicated. Preservation in the face of death does not automatically render them the anointed of the Valar," stated Galduin.

"I see them, but I do not understand what I see," declared Legolas. "What other strengths can they summon for good or for ill?"

"The fires of a forge are useful, but dangerous. How do we trust that they will not burn us too?" asked Gloin.

* * *

At these questions, complaints, and near accusations, Storm surged off the bench from beside Jean, her eyes shimmering in close approximation of her name. "Children I name thee!" she loudly pronounced the first moment the tumult of suspicion of her and her friends lowered enough for her voice to be heard. "One of your greatest allies, deep in all your counsels, has betrayed you. He held Gandalf the Grey, Gandalf the Wise, prisoner. He declares league with your dark Enemy. He gathers an army of dread beasts and evil men. He subverts one of the two free kingdoms of men, last bastions against the might of horrible Mordor. And what do you children do?" Storm asked with righteous indignation. "You ignore anything to do with the traitor and Gandalf's ordeal. Instead, you complain about _us_, the people who just aided your cause. You are right, we do not come from your world, and we are scary in our own way. I came prepared to answer questions. It would be foolish if you had none. And I have questions of my own for you. But this, this rush at us, like a boar charging out of the brush. You did not even bother to look for the sharp spears of Saruman laying in wait before you tried to gore your tusks into us. So I name you children."

Elrond rose elegantly at Storm's speech. "We thank you, Lady Storm, for your assistance to the Ring Bearer and his companions. And you, Lady Jean, in the destruction of the Ringwraith." The Elf Lord bowed deeply to them at the completion of his thanks.

"You are most welcome, Master Elrond," Storm replied, returning the bow. "Your thanks have been more than repaid by letting us stay in your gentle home to recover from our wounds."

"Gandalf's news concerning Saruman _is_ most grievous," said the leader of the council. "We trusted him and you were correct that he is deep in all our counsels. Such betrayal, alas, has happened before. Only through a great effort will we overcome his perfidy. Now, as questions have been directed at you, let me attempt to answer one of your questions, though you have not asked it yet. How did you come to Middle Earth."

"I won't stop you answering."

Elrond smiled. "In a younger day, I roamed wide across the West, including the then expanse of the now named 'Old Forrest'. I too at that time encountered the strange being Frodo and his friends did, Tom Bombadil. Iarwain Ben-adar we named him, oldest and fatherless. From Frodo's tale, and his singing of Tom's name in the Barrow-wight den immediately prior to your appearance, I suspect he played some role in your arrival here."

"Well, what is Bombadil? A deity, a spirit, an elf, a wizard?"

"None of those things," answered Gandalf. "All of Arda was created by the music of Eru, the Creator. He allowed the Ainur, his highest spirits, to assist and sing many of the notes of the Great Song. Thus was the world and all within it made. Not every chord or note or thought sung in this symphony was necessarily complete, but even a partial note had power without measure. Some of these unfinished harmonies and pitches elongated, dispersed over time, their power slowly faded, others merged on to whole thoughts or stanzas granting them extra strength or depth of character, and a few, a very few, lived on, though incomplete, whole to themselves. They came … alive"

"Maybe that's why he loves Goldberry's music so much," whispered Frodo. "He's looking for his missing part."

"So this Bombadil is a never ending echo of some note from your Creation Song?" asked Jean.

Gandalf stared directly back at her, "Yes, I believe so; one such partial note."

"The power of the Ring might lack a hold over him. Could we not ask him to aid us?" inquired Glorfindel.

"He might do so, for a while. But I doubt he would leave his home. Not understanding the power of the Ring, he could neither destroy it, nor bother himself to keep it safe for long. An unsuitable, if well meaning, guardian Tom would make," said the wizard

"But could he send us home?" wondered Storm.

"Perhaps," said Elrond with a pleasant smile and gentle voice. "A better chance than any save one of the Valar, I do not doubt. I will gladly provide an escort and scouts able to track him down within his wood."

Jean noted that Erestor and Galduin positively beamed at Elrond's kind offer, 'Why you sneaky bastard, you want us gone, don't you?' she thought. She fought down an urge to try and pick through his brain to discover what his problem with the mutants was.

Galdor rose, "I will leave before the Solstice to return to the Havens. They may accompany me then, if they so choose. With that question addressed, may we return to the main point of this gathering? The Ring, and what are we to do with it?"

"Can't we just keep it safe here in Rivendell?" asked Frodo.

"I fear, as the strength of Sauron grows and the power of Mordor begins to extend beyond its vile boundaries, I, in the end, lack the power here in Imladris to provide anything more than a temporary sanctuary, be it only ten or a hundred years," said Elrond.

"So too Lorien," added Galduin.

"And Cirdan at the Havens," wearily announced Galdor.

"If the Ring cannot be secured forever from the Enemy or from treachery," said Glorfindel, "then either it must be destroyed or taken over the Sea to the Blessed Realm."

"We cannot destroy it by our arts," declared Elrond. "And the talents of our esteemed guests are not sufficient either it appears."

'You just keep pissing me off, don't you?' thought Jean at the perceived slight.

"The road back to the Sea will likely be fraught with peril, even with the Nine scattered," said Galdor. "I would expect Sauron, once informed of the Ring's presence here, to prepare for us to take it West. Perchance assassins first, but only Gondor remains as a shield protecting us from Mordor making a march to the Sea."

"And Saruman too. No force lies between Isengard and the Ered Luin capable of stopping the armies Gandalf spied," said the dwarf Azaghal, daring to speak for the first time.

"Those who dwell beyond the Sea would not receive it," declared Gandalf. "It is for us here in Middle Earth to do what we can, for good or ill."

"Why not simply toss it in the Sea?" asked Gloin. "A voyage a dwarf dare never make is but child's play to those of the Havens."

"Safe? Like it was in the Anduin, after the disaster of Gladden Fields?" asked Erestor.

"Without it, and him, destroyed, the Enemy's power may already be sufficient to crush Middle Earth under his shadowy heel," pointed out Galduin.

"We will fight him to the last of our ability," declared Legolas.

"None suggested otherwise, Prince of Mirkwood," said Aragorn. "The might of elves is never doubted. And forget not the many valiant men still abiding in Gondor and hopefully still in Rohan."

"Nor dwarves," stated Gloin, his son Gimli, and Azaghal in unison.

"Or hobbits," said Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam together.

"I now see the road that we must take," announced Elrond. "We shall send forth emissaries to where our strength remains and ask them to prepare for war."

"We have no hope of victory on this path," Erestor near spluttered.

"No. But in the chaos this course of action will throw Middle Earth, someone must take the hard road, to walk into peril, where Sauron will not be looking for it, to Mordor. We must send the Ring to the Fire that birthed it and can unmake it. The road leads to Orodruin, Mount Doom."

A long silence filled the air, as each to the best of their knowledge and imagination, contemplated the enormity of such an arduous journey.

"That is the path of despair, or folly," whispered Erestor.

"Despair, I think not," answered Gandalf in a strong voice. "Sauron is not fated to win."

"Nor is it folly," joined Glorfindel. "There will be no false hope for whoever takes up this charge. Does any here imagine this course to be anything but terrible?"

"Say no more," announced Bilbo suddenly. "I found the blasted thing, I passed it on to Frodo while I rested very comfortably here at your home Master Elrond. Now it looks like I must end it too." He stood and rubbed his hands together. "When shall I start?"

"Let none ever doubt your valiant heart, my dear Bilbo," spoke the wizard. "The deeds you have already performed are those of a great hero. But even great heroes only play a small part in any epic. Stay comfortable here in Rivendell. Advise us with your Shire grown wisdom. But this journey is now beyond your strength."

Bilbo gave a light laugh, "That's the first bit of happy advice you ever gave me, Gandalf. Perhaps that means for a change its not very good advice, however I will gladly take it. Regardless, we still need a name."

Silence returned as the Council sat with downturned eyes. Frodo wondered what deep thoughts the Lords and Ladies were thinking. He had none himself, only a great dread growing in his heart. The noon-bell rang, startling him. Startling him into the answer he knew had been staring back at him all morning, crystal clear. With effort, he spoke, if only in a small voice, but loud enough for all to hear.

"I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way."


	11. Chapter 11 - Auras of Hope and Doubt

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 11 – Auras of Hope and Doubt**

"You did what!" yelled two hobbits and two teenage mutants upon being informed of Frodo's declaration that he would attempt to travel to Mordor with the Ring. When the Council had dispersed, Gandalf, the three hobbits, and the two ladies had gone in search of their friends, finding them at lunch in the Feasting Hall after a morning's practice at sword work.

"You can't go alone!" shouted Merry, who was still not well enough to do any actual hands on weapons training.

"Don't worry Mr. Merry, I said I'd go with him," announced Sam.

"What?!" "Crazy!" "Fool hobbit!" were only a few of the exclamations to this second surprise.

Only Pippin offered a contrary viewpoint. "Wished I'd thought to sneak into the Council like Sam. We went to all that trouble to get you here, Frodo, you should at least have had the decency to offer us a chance to go with you."

"Be careful of the adventures you seek, Peregrin Took, they do not all end wrapped up neatly with a bow," said Gandalf. "Look at your cousin." And he pointed at Merry, still bundled in bandages.

"You aren't really going to send them by themselves, are you Gandalf?" asked Rogue.

"That is for Elrond to decide. Much work lies ahead before brave hobbit feet march forth from Rivendell," responded the wizard.

"And what would that be?" asked Merry.

"First, scouts. We must determine what paths are available to us and make sure the Black Riders have returned to their Master and are not lurking about waiting in ambush."

"Second," interjected Storm, "Messengers must be sent to those opposed to Mordor. Elrond's stratagem is to prepare for war, for war is surely coming whether they wish it or not. He hopes to distract the enemy's attention away from looking for small Frodo by moving large numbers of troops in front of his face."

"And third," announced Sam, "we need to toughen up. Strider says our little trip to Rivendell was a lark compared to what we'll face next. No ponies to ride, travelling only at night, the harsh of winter to muck through. He wants us to march all over the hills surrounding Rivendell with him, to get me and Mr. Frodo used to the experience."

"The Dunadan is smart," declared Bilbo. "I remember how ill prepared I was when I set out with Thorin. You boys are already far ahead of me there. Still, if anyone can strengthen your backs and make you stride right, ha-ha, it's him."

"You'll go with them to Mordor, won't you?" Kitty whispered half rhetorically to Gandalf while the others spoke.

"We all have our roles to play," replied Gandalf softly with a small smile. "And for some, the particulars of their role have yet to be decided."

* * *

"What the hell, Jean?" declared Storm stridently once the two of them returned to Jean's room and privacy. "We already knew you spook them for some reason, so why the big display? And where are these new powers of yours coming from anyway?"

"I'm sorry Ororo. I really don't know what came over me. Galdor was asking for fire and a part of me said, 'here, I can do that, let me show you.' Then ... I was doing it."

"Can you do it again?"

"I, I think so."

"Alright, then try it, just don't burn the room down. They'd certainly evict us."

"If not worse." Jean concentrated, extending her hands at fists, but palm side up. She raised her right index finger and 'swoosh,' a small flame danced above the finger pad. "So good so far."

"Can you start a second flame, but keep the first one going?" asked Storm.

Jean opened out the pinkie of the same hand. 'swoosh.'

"Well that's interesting. Think you can move the flame around, like John?"

"Like Pyro? I am not trying _that_ for the first time inside a building. Rivendell is _not_ the Danger Room," Jean replied. After maintaining both flames for over a minute, she waved her hand slightly and the small flames disappeared. "I wonder if I just set off some of Elrond's magic fire alarms," she chuckled.

"Magic. This world is definitely different than ours."

"And just as dangerous."

"If not more so. Do you think some side effect of Middle Earth's magic is granting you this new power?"

"It's not just this new power, Storm. Since I 'woke,' my telepathy has increased too. I can't get much from Gandalf or the elves, maybe their 'magic' shields them. But you guys and the hobbits are like open books."

"Oh Jean," Storm whispered with concern.

"No, no, it's ok. My shields have strengthened too, so I'm not going crazy picking up every random thought zinging through the air. Maybe that most of the people here are elves helps too."

"And your TK?"

"Haven't tried it in any serious way yet. Want to go for a long stroll this evening and take it for a demo ride away from Elrond's prying eyes?"

"And if we just kept walking, that would suit him, wouldn't it," said Storm.

"The man has a serious stick up his butt," Jean said, causing them both to laugh hard. "Should we take Galdor up on his offer?"

"And leave when he does to go search for this Bombadil character? I suppose." Neither spoke for a while after that statement, each examining their feelings, realizing how conflicted they felt.

"Frodo and Sam," whispered Jean.

"Yes, it will be hard to leave them."

"Knowing where they're going."

A longer, sadder silence followed.

* * *

While the two adult mutants spoke, another meeting was taking place, this one in Elrond's private study.

"They remain a mystery," declared Erestor determinedly. "When asked, appropriately, in Council, they deftly turn aside the question and made us appear petty."

"By what right were they even …" began Galduin.

"Do NOT dispute their right of attendance," growled Glorfindel, cutting off the craftswoman from Lorien. "They aided the Ring Bearer. They spilt their own blood in his defense and mine. Who stood over my fallen body, protecting me from the Shade of Angmar? Was it you, who has hid for an Age, safe behind the strength of Galadriel?"

"Argue not amongst ourselves," stated Elrond firmly. "Lest we lend credence to this _Raumien's_ accusation."

"I have spent many hours in conversation with her," said Galdor. "She is less the 'noise of a storm' you perceive, but more, a fresh gust of wind, bringing new perspective. She is not so great a mystery to me."

"Nor I," concurred Glorfindel. "There is no false face to _Suliltanis_. I travelled several days in her company, along with the daughters of Man who were not at the Council."

Elrond smiled to indicate his acceptance of the rebuke at his attempt to ill name the dark skinned, snow haired stranger.

"She did not dance here on a wind," said Erestor. "How certain are you that Iarwain Ben-adar is responsible for their appearance."

"Possible, perhaps. Certain? No," replied Elrond.

"Is Mithrandir correct about the nature of Iarwain Ben-adar?" asked Galduin.

"If any would know, would not he?" said Glorfindel.

"I could rationalize myself into believing Bombadil the cause," said Galdor. "But the strength and complexity of the act cries to me of the Valar, or of Eru himself. However, are we to believe such extraordinary lengths were taken to violate, no, better say ignore their pledge to never again interfere in Middle Earth?"

"They sent Mithrandir and his ilk as aid earlier in this Age," said Galduin. "Was that not a violation?"

"For which we have been rewarded with Saruman's treachery," answered Glorfindel.

"Perhaps they are the vessels sent by Valinor, if not from Valinor, to redeem their choice of Curunir as an Istari," wondered Elrond.

"A vessel filled with a flaming raptor of death," declared Galduin indignantly.

"Even a naugrim will tell you that while flame burns, if treated respectfully, it is the greatest tool for accomplishing hard work," replied Galdor with equal fervor.

"What makes _One_ thing ill and another a boon?" pondered Glorfindel aloud, looking pointedly at Elrond's hand, where _Vilya_ lay hidden.

"Indeed, what?" murmured the Master of Rivendell.

"Character. Character in creation. Character in action," Glorfindel said. "_Narwilinien_ is closed to me, and _Suliltanis_ as tight as the Dunadan. The children, though, I have peered into. The world they come from is strange beyond belief with mechanical wonders. If Numenor had been given an entire Age, unseduced by the Enemy, to increase their knowledge, may hap they could have advanced enough to create tools not out of place from this America of theirs."

At the mention of Numenor and its fall, the other four elves gave small shivers of dread at what un-natural wonders might have been.

"Their land is not perfect, and who dares say different of Middle Earth. These women reside at a special school where the few others born with like eldritch talents are taught the safe and respectful use of their powers. _Narwilinien_ and _Suliltanis_ are two of the most respected teachers in this place. When evil threatens their school or their not a kingdom, the teachers, the leaders, hesitate not to defend it, even when it means protecting, unto their own demise, those who fear their talents against turncoats of their own 'mutant' kind. That is their character. If any children of man may tame the beasts within themselves, these are the ones to do so," declared Glorfindel.

Galdor found himself nodding in agreement with the First Born Elf Lord's words, while Erestor and Galduin held dubious looks.

"Your words carry the merit of further scrutiny. Let us withhold our doubts for now, and treat our guests with the equanimity that I must admit I have not fully extended them myself," announced Elrond.

"Words of dissension only strengthen Mordor," agreed Erestor. "I, too, have been less than completely gracious. Might we next discuss who you intend on anointing as emissaries to our allies?"

"Galdor, you obviously will return to Cirdan, and ask him to prepare should the worst come to pass. You may ask the ladies if they would like to accompany you as far as the Old Forest. And let Azaghal travel with you if he wishes to return to his delf."

"Of course. Will Legolas return to Mirkwood and Gloin to Erebor with word of War?" replied Galdor.

"Gloin yes, but not the son of Thranduil. The King of Mirkwood tends toward isolation, so we must prod him to stay engaged. Sending Legolas to a region closer to Mordor may push him in that direction," said Elrond.

"Then who shall be the emissary to spur him into a trot?" laughed Glorfindel.

"Let us see if you are as an excellent rider of Kings as you are of steeds, Glorfindel," said Elrond, bringing the First Born's amusement to an end. "See too what you will make of King Brand in Dale. Gloin has shared his concerns that he might wobble in the face of adversity."

"Then let Celethir go with him to assist in this mission." interjected Erestor.

"Agreed."

"What of Lorien? And my Queen and King?" asked Galduin.

"The Ring Bearer shall pass through your Golden Wood on his terrible journey. That will suffice," said Elrond. At the craftwoman's look, "Worry not, he and his servant will not journey alone to arrive at Caras Galadhon. A united front we must present the Enemy, so an elf, a dwarf, and a man at least shall accompany our brave hobbit friends to your home."

They all nodded at that sage announcement. Erestor then brought up the most worrisome, and perhaps most important, points of the proposed strategy, "Gondor? Rohan?"

"I believe the son of Arathorn will be tested whether he can reunite two thrones. Also, I see another involved, a Captain of Gondor. He is not here yet, but he comes, driven by grim vision, he comes. Those two may well be the balance upon whether those bulwarks fail or remain strong."

* * *

The day after the Council, without having discussed it, both Storm and Galdor returned to the Library at nearly the same time. Storm opened the door to see Galdor unloading a tray.

"I thought today we might choose to talk more and unroll maps less, so I brought some refreshments to keep our throats from becoming parched. Tea?"

Storm smiled. "You are reminding me of the Professor. He came from a land renowned for its tea drinking abilities."

"I did not realize one could gain renown for such 'feats'. Was he a heroic drinker of the brewed leaf, your Professor?"

"No," laughed Storm lightly. "But he always had some handy when we would sit down for a chat."

"And what shall we chat about today."

"Don't bate me Galdor, it's unbecoming an elf of your dignity."

"Ahh, you have yet to see me at Midsummer Festival. I suggest we start with any personal reservations you feel about your treatment at the Council. To discuss so after talking about the ramifications of the Ring might appear somewhat trivial."

"Yes, my friends and I are ripped between Worlds, trivial sounds appropriate. Very well, on to the trivial. Several in the Council muttered _Narwilinien_ at Jean, and more this morning at breakfast whispered it too. What does _Narwilinien_ mean in elvish?"

"Sindarin. Remember there is no exact single tongue of ours, much like your world as you have told me."

"No need to lecture, please answer the question."

"Firebird. And yesterday, after the Council, Glorfindel came up with a lovely name for you, Suliltanis. That is in Quenya, not Sindarin, though they are closely related, and it translates as Wind Dancer. Very appropriate from what I heard occurred at the Mitheithel. I think I would enjoy watching you fly on the winds, but under happier circumstances than there."

Storm looked long and somewhat hard at Galdor. "Yes, the Mitheithel. There weren't many of us there to see the appearance of the flame Jean wrapped herself and that Ringwraith with. And when she encased the Ring in fire, it did resemble talons. But there is more to it, isn't there, Galdor? Please don't be evasive."

Galdor stared back for a moment at the very smart woman before answering. "Yes. No one had told you yet that elves may see the inner aura of a person, have they?"

"No," Storm responded as a knot appeared in her stomach.

"Our own are very bright. At the Mitheithel, when Glorfindel first charged the bridge, what did you see?"

"A brilliant white light shone from him. It scared the Nazguls for a time."

"That was him revealing his aura. He did so to place fear of his purity in the evil ones. His is mightier and purer than most. Men, dwarves, hobbits, and even orcs all have auras too, but none glow as bright as an elf's. They usually range in shades from white to grey to black."

"Good to indifferent to evil."

"Approximately, yes."

"So what is it about ours?"

"Yours is astounding, for a daughter of man. It glows as pure and bright as any elf. Perhaps in the elder days, Hurin, the greatest warrior of the Edain, man, in the First Age, might have had an aura near as strong as an elf. Mayhap the mortal Beren, who married the Princess Luthien, too had such an aura."

"And Jean, and Kitty, and Rogue?" she forced herself to ask.

"Kitty's shines strong and pure, like a lesser elf's. Rogue's is stronger, near as bright as yours, but with unusual hues and tones to it."

"That makes twisted sense with what her power does to her … soul, and how it affects those she … touches. But Jean, there is something about hers that puts everyone on edge, scares them even, doesn't it?"

Galdor nodded. "Her aura blazes like a raging inferno, as strong as the greatest First Born Lords of my kind, but the color is that of the swirling red, orange, and yellow colors of flame."

"And it takes the form of a bird, doesn't it?" whispered Storm, understanding dawning on her. "_Narwilinien_."

* * *

"My Dunadan."

"Evenstar."

"My father bade me to retrieve this for you." And Arwen presented an engraved box with a latch to her betrothed. As her arms extended, sunlight reflected off the Ring of Barahir resting on her left hand.

"Then I shall take it." He took the box and held it in his hands, but his eyes never left the fair face in front of him. "Tis the time then to strive for my birthright."

"And our future."

"Come with me then to help arrange this particular union."

The mortal man and the immortal elf strolled across the gardens of Rivendell together and turned to walk the path along the Bruinen heading upward toward the Misty Mountains. Up a long, but gentle rise, and then finally over a crest they came upon the workshops of the Last Homely House. Smoke drifted into the air from some low buildings, the hum of sawing and din of hammering provided a background to all sound in the area. They walked straight to the main smithy.

"How may we be of service to you today Lady Arwen, Estel?" asked an elf working the bellows for a dwarf at the forge nearest the open walled front to the building.

"Nothing needful from you today Groveren. We have come to see the Forge Master," said Aragorn.

"Thol is in his shop speaking with the craft mistress from Lorien."

"All the better," said Arwen. They proceed through to the back of the Smithy, past one worker singing an enchantment while pouring a molten, sparking metal into a sand mold and another simply hammering at a reheated horseshoe. Arriving at the Master's interestingly lacquered door, Aragorn politely knocked.

"Enter," came a voice graveled by several millennia of inhaling soot, steam, and impurities burned off in the making of steel. Upon spotting who took advantage of the permission for entry, a thick chested elven male and the visitor from Lorien stood up from the intricate, spidery thin notes and diagram they had been reviewing.

"A rare privilege to see you here my Lady."

"I come not for myself, I simply accompanied Aragorn with the package I delivered unto him from my father."

"How may I be of service Son of Arathorn?"

He placed the box he had carried atop the Smith's table and unlatched it. From inside it he pulled out a silken bag. And from out of the silken bag he removed a shiny, thin piece of metal, half as wide as his palm and near six inches long. The eyes of the two craft masters widened.

"For three thousand years this has lain without home here at the Last Homely House. The time has come for it to return from whence it came." The heir of Elendil placed the shard on the table next to the now empty box. He then unbuckled the sheathed sword at his side and laid that too on the table.

Thol licked his lips, looking from the sheathed sword to Aragorn's face, then back again.

"Go ahead, it shan't bite you Thol," chuckled the Chief of the Dunedain.

With gentle hands, the Forge Master of Rivendell slowly tugged Narsil from the exceptionally plain and much battered sheath protecting it. The blade ended too soon, in a jagged edge. Thol gripped the pommel with his left hand and then with his right picked up the shard. As gentle as any Mother with a new born child waiting to suckle, he eased the only unsmooth part of the shard into the jagged stub of the blade.

"Ahhhhhhhh, Telchar did fine work, fine work. Do you see Galduin? Hardly any gaps at all between the two, and three thousand years since they last touched."

"A masterpiece," whispered the craftmistress, running her hand lightly across the runes of the blade. Collecting herself, she said with a touch of envy in her voice, "We can discuss my poor project later Master Thol, I think you will soon be busy with something more important."

"Do not leave Galduin," stated Arwen firmly.

"Please stay," Aragorn echoed. "We would appreciate it if you would help remake Narsil."

"Why, why thank you. But I am no maker of swords, my talents lay elsewhere."

"That is more than just a sword. It represents the possibility of hope and success against the Enemy," said Aragorn.

"It is the emblem of a King's justice and a symbol for the unity of two split peoples," added Arwen. "The deft touch of Lothlorien would aid to make it whole again."

"By your leave, I am honored. Is this acceptable to you as well Master Thol?"

With eyes already shining in delightful anticipation at the task ahead, he quickly muttered, "Yes, yes, of course," as he placed the two parts of Narsil back on the table and began digging out drafting paper and quills. "First we make an etching, and then a mold."

"How far down the blade will we need to melt in order to merge and reshape the shard to it? How much mithral do you have? That would aid greatly in the alloy for binding."

"Do not get ahead of yourself my lady," barked Thol.

"Excuse me. Excuse me!" Aragorn nearly shouted.

"What?!" "What?!" exclaimed the two masters, already riled to be interrupted in the planning of their magnificent work.

"One requirement I lay upon you for this task." Both sets of eyes quickly hooded in suspicion, for customers ever are prone to laying unrealistic requirements on art. "I shall need this within a month."

"Too soooooon!" both howled indignantly.

Arwen and Aragorn shrugged their shoulders to say, 'too bad,' and turned to walk out. Smiles did not crease their faces till they were out of the Smithy, followed by the booming echo of Thol's gravelly voice, "Groveren! Tell everyone to drop everything at once and to come here! NOW!" The smiles mirrored the thoughts in both their minds, 'Artists.'


	12. Chapter 12 - The Best Laid Plans of

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 12 – The Best Laid Plans of Mutants and Non-Mutants**

The firm knock of Erestor's hand came upon the door of Elrond's study.

"Yes?"

The door opened. "My pardon. Galdor, the Lady Storm, and the merchant Azaghal would have speech with you." At Elrond's raised eyebrows, Erestor nodded his head and continued, "Yes, the Broadbeam from Ered Luin."

"Too intriguing a combination not too converse with."

Erestor stepped back to wave the three in. Once they were in front of Elrond's table, his advisor closed the door to the study, with himself also in the room, too intriguing indeed.

"Master Elrond," declared Galdor. "Since the ladies arrival at your homely house, I have been explaining to the Lady Storm, _Suliltanis_, the realities of Middle Earth facing those of us who would oppose the Enemy. She has proved a truly apt pupil. This morning, amongst many matters, we also discussed your stratagem to aid Frodo's journey."

"And doubtless you have suggestions."

"Yes," affirmed Storm.

"Please continue, the free future of Middle Earth likely rests on how well we plan the next months, and wisdom is not limited to a single individual."

"By our efforts, we hope to induce the Dark Lord to move before he is fully prepared. He will likely send his Easterling allies against Erebor and Dale. With sufficient help from Mirkwood, the forces of King Dain and King Brand have some hope to hold on."

"My assessment as well Galdor."

"The strong remnants of Dol Guldur will likely assail either the Golden Woods or head north against Thranduil. Cereborn and Galadriel will be too strong to overcome. Hopefully the Enemy will chose that folly, too driven by hate and memory of being thrown from Dol Guldur seventy years ago."

"If he choses the northern route, that will prove hard for our allies, I see that also."

"Forget not the goblins and orcs of the Misty Mountains. They have recovered some from the results of their madness, also seventy years ago, on the slopes of Erebor. Some of them might heed Mordor's call and choose to assail Lothlorien or Mirkwood."

"True, true. However, Galdor, we have not enough strength to guard the length of that mountain range."

Storm continued for Galdor, "Gondor holds the shield against Mordor, but alas, that kingdom will face not just Mordor. Surely Sauron will bring in his allies to the south, the Haradrim and the Corsairs of Umbar."

"The smart maneuver for the Enemy would be to use them in a naval attack against the coast of Gondor," added Galdor.

"Thus denying Minas Tirith the strength of Pelargir, Lenennin, and Dol Amroth," Erestor stated.

"There may be as yet unlooked for succor in Gondor," Elrond said blandly.

"Well with Saruman's treachery, it likely won't come from Rohan," said Storm.

"With his mischief extending into Edoras and the forces Gandalf saw gathering within Isengard, Saruman may be able to neuter Rohan's alliance with Gondor by trickery or by war."

"You have now presented me with three problems for which I have no ready answer. I do not think you came to simply spread ill news I was already aware of. That good trader Azaghal accompanies you, though he has yet to speak, makes me think you bring possible solutions," Elrond replied.

"We have," announced Storm. "The forces of the West."

"Valinor?!" asked a confused Erestor.

"Not that far west," interjected Galdor. "The Lady Storm still lacks some nuance to our history. She means the strength of Lindon."

"What strength?" asked Elrond.

"Our ships."

Erestor gasped. "You would risk our way to the Blessed Realm?!"

"In the coming war, many of our kind will be in even graver risk of never reaching Valinor," declared Galdor.

"How many ships?" inquired Elrond.

"We could surely fit fifteen for war by March, maybe as many as twenty if Cirdan can find enough sailors. With our speed of hull and the range of our archery shooting fire arrows, we could defeat five times the number of lumbering hulks Umbar would send."

"More if the Enemy's fleets came on in piecemeal fashion," said Storm.

Elrond nodded his head, analyzing the suggestion. Finally, he turned toward Azaghal, "I do not suppose you offered to supply Galdor with a slew of dwarven sailors.

The stout dwarf laughed. "Never let it be said Master that you lack a sense of humor."

"Pray tell, what do the delfs of Ered Luin have to offer our schemes?"

"An army Master Elrond, to confound Saruman."

"How large of a force?"

"Six to seven thousand Lord, more if the lads are feeling feisty."

Surprise clearly showed on the faces of Elrond and Erestor.

"My Broadbeams and the Firebeards have had naught with war since helping the Longbeards seek vengeance against Azog, and that was afore I were birthed. We breed slow, and the numbers of Ered Luin were further reduced when most of the Longbeards among us left for Erebor after the death of Smaug. Yet even with a few of our own clans making that journey, with time, our numbers have risen again."

"And your peoples would do this work from their hearts, to battle the spread of Mordor and the great Enemy?" Elrond asked in amazement at this possible turn of dwarven proportion.

Azaghal chuckled, "No master, though many will enjoy the thought of splitting orcan skulls."

"Then why?" wondered Erestor.

"Isengard," announced the dwarf quite greedily, nearly causing Elrond to splutter.

"Aragorn," stated Storm, "as Heir of Elendil and the throne of Gondor, will officially grant the dwarves of Ered Luin the right of stewardship to Isengard, the tower of Orthanc, and all the _treasure_ within it, should they, by force of arms, be able to remove the current illegal occupant of this province of the Realm of Gondor."

A wolfish grin spread across the face of Elrond, "This will take significant effort in a short period of time. To rouse the delfs, arm them, supply them, and march them across Enedwaith."

"Cirdan," Galdor announce, "can help with the logistics."

"And I dare say Aragorn could convince some of his Rangers to act as guides and scouts," added Storm.

"Hard work ahead for your peoples, Azaghal. It may not be only Saruman you fight."

"We are dwarves, Lord. Life is always hard."

* * *

A motley group stood in front of the Last Homely House in the false dawn light to watch Elrond's scouts depart in dribs and drabs. Some walked, some rode, but all wore the muted greens, tree bark browns, stone grays, and fallen leaf oranges of autumn, necessary to blend to the environments each was being sent by Elrond to investigate. Occasionally Aragorn would step forward to have a brief word with a particular scout, either through personal familiarity or familiarity with the area the scout was destined for. It took only a half hour for all twenty scouts departing that day to file past. A smaller number had left the day before and a few more would leave over the next few days. Many of Elrond's usual scouts were still out trying to track the disappearance of the Black Riders after the Battle at the Mitheithel Bridge ten days earlier.

"So where are these chaps off to?" asked Pippin.

"Several will cross the Misty Mountains in two places, the High Pass above Rivendell or near the source of the Gladden, further south, to explore the Anduin for signs of the Enemy."

"Is that all?" wondered Merry.

"No, my friend, others will stay this side of the Misty Mountains, but close to its flanks, heading south past Eregion, past the road to Moria, …"

"Ahh, Khazad-dum," whispered Gloin loudly.

"… and last to the Glanduin."

"Will they search for sign of Balin's colony, do you think?"

Aragorn shook his head. "None will attempt to enter the Halls of Durin, but Elrond has asked them to stay alert for any Hadhodrim mark. Some too will head straight down the Bruinen till it merges with the Mitheithel to make the Greyflood. Those will continue along it till the ruins of Tharbad and the end of the Greenway."

"What if they come across any of the elves already out there?" inquired Kitty.

"Elrond has provided orders to pass on to them to extend the range of their explorations too. I've provided tokens as well should they encounter any of my fellow Dunedain. With Saruman's treachery, we shouldn't be surprised if spies, assassins, and beasts haven't already been sent forth from Isengard as well."

"Don't forget," interjected Bilbo, "plenty of goblin tribes still harbor within the Misty Mountains, waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting. It would be a good thing to have a feel for where they are holed up right now."

"A cheery thought, as Strider is about to lead us on our first practice march alongside those very peaks," said Frodo. "Or did you forget dear Bilbo that you volunteered last night to get up at this ghastly hour to see us off."

"I'm here aren't," the elder hobbit responded a tad grumpily.

"And I," announced Merry dejectedly.

"None of you three need to go," declared Aragorn, turning to address Pippin, Kitty, and Rogue.

"After a week of rest and relaxation, a hike in the woods sounded like a nice change of pace," replied Rogue.

"We've already been training at swords with them. So what better way to show our support than to accompany them on their practice marches."

Aragorn smiled at the teenagers enthusiasm and misunderstanding of the 'practice march' that was about to occur. "In that case, everybody shoulder your packs. And no complaining, these are only about half the weight you'll carry when our real journey begins. A good day to the rest of you, we'll be back in time for dinner." And with that, yet another small group departed Rivendell that morning.

"Did you hear Strider, 'when our real journey begins.' He is going to go with them to Mordor." said Merry bitterly.

"He might go with Frodo for a ways, but the Dunadan's duty will call him elsewhere," said Bilbo.

"You would accompany your friends?" asked Gloin.

"I would, but I fear I won't be able too," Merry responded, and tugged at his bandages to emphasize the reason. "And that rascal Took will find a way to tag along as well, just watch him do it."

"I volunteered to go," said Bilbo. "But Gandalf told me it was beyond my strength. I was glad to hear his words, for though I meant what I proposed, I knew the truth of it."

"We all have our roles," stated Gloin.

"Well I've been left with no role, and much like Merry, I don't like it," said Bilbo a bit heatedly. "You, at least, will soon be heading back to Erebor to share Elrond's plan. And in the company of a party of mighty elves, no less, won't that make a grand entrance?"

"Yes," answered Gloin.

"Yes," whispered Merry with a glint of intrigue in his eyes.

* * *

Jean stood near the Bruinen Ford, a look of intense concentration on her face. Neither her, nor Storm, had quibbled the day before when Gandalf suggested the river bank as the optimal location for Jean to practice her growing talents. Storm had politely concurred that playing with fire near water made more sense than in the middle of a forest. At the moment, that new power of hers was not kindled. Instead , telekinetic claws were scrapping through the mud keeping an enormous boulder suctioned tight to the muck of the river.

"You've tapped the outline of the stone, Jean, now envision it as a whole and lift it, don't tug at it."

"I suppose," Jean gasped, sweat building on her brow, "That you've mooo, unh, ved rocks this big before?"

Gandalf turned his head to look at Storm with a 'what is she talking about?' expression on his face. Storm returned his look with a 'I don't know how to respond' shrug.

Glorfindel piped up in defensive of the wizard, "Only when Mithrandir felt such a rock desired to be moved."

As Gandalf and Storm chuckled at the suggestion, Jean unleashed a scream, "Aghhhhhhhhhhh!" And the ten ton hunk of granite came unglued from the river bottom to bob in the air through the strength of the red haired mutant's mind.

"Calmly now," whispered Gandalf. "Set it down on the opposite bank. Empty your mind of extraneous thought, …"

"Talking … not helping," muttered Jean as the queen of boulders defied gravity and swept at the pace of a brisk walk to the far side.

Kaplunk! The rock dropped five feet on to hard ground.

"That poor sapling," said Gandalf with a teasing smile on his face. "Never had a chance to even grow an acorn."

"Phew! That was tough. I think I pulled my brain."

"Ever move anything that big before?" asked Storm.

"I tried to pick the Blackbird up once, couldn't. So I satisfied myself by rolling it around on its landing gear. Hank was pissed. I burned out one of the shock absorbers."

Glorfindel, noticing her sweat, handed her his deerskin water pouch. "I shall miss watching your demonstrations."

"When do you go?" asked Storm.

"In two days I depart with Gloin and a small party."

"Anybody else going we know?" inquired Storm.

"Celethir. I will stay in Mirkwood at Thranduil's palace, but he will continue through to Dale and then the Lonely Mountain."

"Any worries about the trip?"

The journey or the destination? The Beornings do a fair job of keeping the road from the High Pass to the border of Mirkwood free of danger."

"The Beornings," said Storm. "Only Gloin really mentioned them at the Council. Galdor told me they showed up at the battle at Erebor. Is anyone going to tell them what's going on?"

"Ahem," Gandalf cleared his throat. "Grimbeorn and all the Beornings are, ahh, somewhat difficult to deal with. Fierce, honest, for certain, but also, uhm, …"

"Independent," interjected Glorfindel.

"Nicely put," responded Gandalf. "They do have a treaty with Thranduil to aid Mirkwood."

"I shall remind them of it and let them know the moment may be near at hand for them to abide by it," announced Glorfindel.

"What about your friend Radagast? Is anyone looking for him? He was duped by Saruman afterall, I'd hope he would want to help even the score." Jean asked.

"Once a time he lived at Rhosgobel, not many days walk from Gladden Fields," stated Gandalf. "Some of Elrond's scouts who departed yesterday will look for trace of him there. His way with birds, particularly the Eagles, would be of great assistance."

"When will the scouts start to return?" asked Storm.

"The first? Not for a month probably, and the last in perhaps two."

"What?!" shouted Storm.

"Is this a problem? We would not want Frodo to walk into a trap."

"Of course not," spluttered Storm, working hard to regain control of her temper. "It also gives the Enemy time to field more spies and move them into place. And then you'd be making the poor little hobbit trudge through the depths of winter."

"And if you wait for all the scouts to return, won't the time lost between the first and the last allow the Enemy movements into areas previously thought clear?" pointed out Jean.

"There is some truth in what you say," said Glorfindel.

"Hmmmn," wondered Gandalf as he stroked his grey beard.

* * *

Kitty and Rogue walked slowly, purposefully, toward the table in the Feasting Hall at which Storm and Jean already sat.

"How are the blisters today?" asked Jean.

"Better. That unguent Arwen gave us helped," answered Rogue.

"My calves are still tight as bowling balls though," declared Kitty.

"And how are Frodo, Sam, and Pippin?" inquired Storm.

"Asleep, Aragorn wore them out again today. Bilbo and Merry will probably provide them dinner in their rooms for the second night in a row," said Rogue.

"Disappointed you didn't walk with them today?" teased Storm.

"No!" came Kitty's sharp retort. "Those big, hairy hobbit feet of theirs aren't natural. No blisters, no bruises, no stubbed toes, nothing."

"All on bare feet, for criminy sakes," added Rogue.

"Criminy?" chuckled Jean.

"Well I didn't want to call them 'those little bastards,' even if it might have crossed my mind. 'Criminy' was all I could come up with at the moment. Get off my back, sheez," an exasperated Rogue announced.

The petulant, teenage silence that followed was finally broken when Elrond entered the Feasting Hall.

"Rogue, I tell you, give him a short haircut, nip those ears back to human proportions, put him in a dark suit, and sunglasses … the dude would be a perfect match for Agent Smith. And us, suddenly _waking up_ in a place called 'Middle Earth, where they conveniently happen to speak English."

"Aaugh!" Rogue responded with her best Charlie Brown like scream of frustration. "Enough already with the Matrix conspiracy theories Kitty. YOU .. ARE .. DRIVING .. ME .. CRAZY!"

Jean and Storm smiled at each other, both recognizing the normalcy that was the insanity of teenagers.

* * *

"You would give up part of my birthright, without seeking my permission, and ere I even took the throne of Gondor?" Aragorn asked darkly.

"Ahh, technically," responded Galdor, "it would remain as part of Gondor and your birthright, just under a new steward."

"However the dwarves decide to figure out that one," threw in Storm. "Besides, if you'd care to go tell the current tenant his lease has expired and you're evicting him, well …?" and she ended with a shrug.

Aragorn glowered at the implied sass of the dark skinned woman's comment.

"The gist of the lady's point holds true," stated Elrond.

"I _will_ be heading south," said Aragorn.

"With Frodo," said Galdor.

"At first," added Elrond. "The final path you take is as yet unknown. It may be to Mordor or to the walls of Minas Tirith."

"It too could take me through Rohan and Isengard before the others. You yourself know not," declared Aragorn in a strong voice.

"True," answered Elrond calmly. "Much of my vision past the vale of Rivendell is now clouded by the Enemy. Even so, any with wisdom can see many are the paths the Heir of Elendil will take before all is said and done. But the hope of Middle Earth ultimately rests on the path of one hobbit."

"Any action we take," said Galdor, "which deceives the Enemy as to our intentions and where Frodo treads, is a boon to that poor hobbit, to all of us."

"You would deny Frodo this shield the dwarves of the Blue Mountains could provide?" asked Storm.

Aragorn's hand reached for the comfort of Narsil's pommel before he remembered it was these past three days in Master Thol's care. Aragorn was perhaps the most travelled man currently in Middle Earth, but in the experiences of his long life he had never ruled or overseen more than a few thousand souls. As he stood in Elrond's study, the realities and limitations of rulership were now in conflict with his childhood stories and dreams of the reunited might and glory of Arnor and Gondor. He felt mentally cornered in a way he had never before physically experienced in any trap or ambush.

"Very well," strained through Aragorn's lips. "If you will excuse me, this morning Frodo is to have a rest from marching, but a return to sword practice. These too are shields of a sort that _I_ freely offer him." The Chief of the Dunedain turned and quickly walked out of the room. He at least refrained from the slamming the door on his way out.


	13. Chapter 13 - A Captain of Gondor

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 13 – A Captain of Gondor**

Aragorn noted Frodo successfully warding off Rogue's still too aggressive, but slightly more accurate strikes. By the heavy stomping sound and subsequent howl of outrage, his ears told him Sam must have snuck inside Kitty's guard and delivered a judicious application of horned hobbit feet to an unsuspecting part of the teenager's lower anatomy. His own dulled practice blade continued to hover in front of Pippin's face. The determined hobbit was staying on guard, slapping back with his own blade and making the occasional feint to keep his opponent, Aragorn in this case, honest. Unfortunately for the Took, he had yet to develop a sense of a fight's total environment, which was the lesson of this morning's demonstration for poor Pippin. Because in about thirty more seconds, Aragorn would finish maneuvering his unsuspecting friend into walking backward into a deep puddle of mud.

Then the sound of hoofs carrying a heavy load came to him, followed ten second later by the sight of his friend Elrohir, son of Elrond, slowly riding his horse past the hedge boundary of the practice area, with an unknown man, wearing a rich, but ragged fur lined cloak, sitting behind him.

"Hail Elrohir," he shouted in Sindarin while still skillfully adjusting Pippin's disposition with regards to the puddle.

"Hail Estel," came the response, as the horse slowed even more. "Over exerting yourself this morning?"

"Not as much as your Tingilco. Who is he?"

"A messenger from Gondor for my father."

"Come to me when you can. Maybe we can see about over exerting you."

And with that comment, Elrohir passed on and Pippin discovered himself ankle deep in a muddy puddle.

"Hey!?" shouted the hobbit in surprise, lowering his weapon enough for Aragorn to sweep over the top and push the dulled point of his sword on Pippin's chest.

"Always stay aware of your surroundings." Prod. Pippin took another step back. "And remember, don't back yourself into a corner." Prod. Pippin went further into the muck. "Or a puddle." One final prod, then the Ranger stepped into the puddle himself to offer Pippin a hand.

"Thought you were going to dump me on my bottom there, Strider," said a relieved sounding Pippin, rubbing his chest where his big friend had prodded him.

Aragorn chuckled, "I thought about it too. I thought about it."

* * *

The travel weary elf came to Aragorn much sooner than the Ranger had guessed he might. His trainees were standing around a water butt taking a break. This time he spoke in Westernesse so his friends could understand.

"Where is your brother?"

"We both received the command from my father to join the other scouts in heading south along the Hithaeglir, but we deemed our new companion too important to come here alone. Elladan lost the dagger toss, so he headed back out," said Elrohir with a small shrug at his brother's misfortune.

"Did you find any sign of Black Riders?"

"Not directly. The man did. He is why I came to you. My father wishes you and the Ring Bearer to come to his study to share speech with him."

"Who is this mysterious visitor?" asked Frodo.

"Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor."

* * *

Erestor opened the door to let the Ranger and the hobbit enter, then closed the door, with himself, again, inside the room. Elrond sat serenely behind his desk. Gandalf stood by the window peering outside. The newest guest to Rivendell sat upon a chair over which he'd thrown his well worn, but expensive cloak, and from which he nibbled with one hand at refreshments that had been placed before him. The other hand clutched a great white horn, tipped in silver, that rested a top one knee.

"Welcome Frodo, Welcome Aragorn," stated Elrond. "Allow me to introduce you to Lord Boromir, a Captain of Gondor, just arrived after an arduous journey from Minas Tirith."

"These two have relevance to the counsel you seek. Please start again," said Gandalf turning back to face the room.

Once the hard looking, scruffy man and the Halfling, both of whom he remembered seeing earlier at sword practice, sat down, he plowed forward, "I am come from the White City, from which my father, the Lord Denethor, oversees all the lands, and defenses, of Gondor, as her Steward. And it is for the defense of Gondor that I travelled many dangerous leagues in search of the wisdom of Elrond to assist us against our Morgul enemy."

"The whisper of a rumor has reached our ears of a sudden reversal in Gondor's fortunes this past summer," said Elrond.

"Valiant are the men of Gondor in guarding the Anduin as the strong wall against the ravages of the Southrons, the Easterlings, and, yes, the terrors of the Ancient Enemy himself," declared Boromir proudly. "Since before my birth forty years ago, smoke has risen again from Mount Doom. The black lands of Mordor push forth their base minions for yet another time in Middle Earth. Truly, this June as you say, did war itself, not mere probes, suddenly erupt upon us out of Minas Morgul. And what small footholds we still clung to in once beautiful Ithilien were smashed from our grasp."

"A dire moment," said Gandalf.

"More dire than you think. We were not defeated alone by their teeming hordes. The Dark Lord unleashed his vilest servant upon us, he took the shape of a rider in black, and wherever he trod madness and terror followed. The sturdiest veteran quivered in fear. New trained recruits ran screaming with horror into the River. A small band of us held together and retreated to the single span across the Anduin in Osgiliath which we have controlled for decades. Even there this power I have never felt, and I have contested with the Morgul since a stripling, fell among us. Still, we held the bridge long enough for our comrades on the west bank to cast it down, lest it become an avenue to strike direct at Minas Tirith. Only myself, my fair brother Faramir, and two others survived the plunge to the racing waters beneath to be hauled ashore to hear the bitter sweet praise of our 'doughtiness'."

"I thank you for your long, difficult effort to share this news of the Enemy with us. But I fear Rivendell has little to offer Gondor with which it might directly confront Mordor."

"Nay Master Elrond, your might, as I declared earlier, is in your wisdom. Gondor seeks no allies, aside from the strong lances of our neighbor Rohan. It is the astuteness of your knowledge that I sought for my noble land, to help unravel the words which came first in a dream to my brother on the eve of the new battle, then again to me in the aftermath of our humbling defeat."

Elrond nodded around the room. "Our finest effort you shall receive. Tell us of your dream."

"Out of a pale light in the western sky, a distant voice cried clearly, '_Seek for the Sword that was broken: In Imladris it dwells;'" _Boromir stated, the words he spoke taking on a poetic prose. The verse continued till it concluded with the words, "'_For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand._'"

"Neither Faramir nor I knew what to make of this, so we went unto my father, who is steeped in the knowledge of Gondor. All he knew was that 'Imladris' was the name of the northern vale where dwelt Elrond, greatest of Middle Earth's loremasters. My brother and I pressed our father to release one of us to seek the meaning of our dream, and after a week, my father, the Steward, relented to send me, instead of my younger brother. Hard was the road here, for though many had heard of you, few knew where you might be found. I lost my horse in the ruins of Tharbad attempting to cross the river. Forced to strike out on foot, I followed the river bank toward a rumor of an ancient elven home in Eregion. One morning a chill went through my heart and I took cover. Lucky did I make the rare retreat, for a mere minute later three riders in black, near exact as I encountered in Osgiliath drew past me, headed south. Much relief came upon me when several days later Elrond's scouts finally discovered me. Now here I sit."

"Much portending to your dream will you now discover," announced Elrond.

"Frodo?" Gandalf asked quietly.

Boromir watched the Halfling stand and reach into his shirt. Out came an intricate silver chain and on it bobbed a simple golden band.

"Isildur's Bane," stated Elrond.

"The Halfling," whispered Boromir, his eyes narrowing to focus on Frodo and The Ring.

"Yes. Four days ago a council was held. I am sorry you were not in attendance. At it, the history of the One Ring of the Enemy's was told," said Gandalf. "From its creation by Sauron, to his loss of it thanks to the 'Sword that was broken,' to Isildur's own loss of it at his death at Gladden Fields."

"And how it was found under the Misty Mountains by my foster father Bilbo," interjected Frodo in a small voice. "Also that of his own free will he passed it on to me and that I too was chased by Black Riders in trying to come here to Elrond."

Boromir looked back and forth from the Ring and the hobbit's face while Frodo spoke. At the end of his little speech, Frodo nervously returned the chain to under his shirt. Boromir licked his licks. "Everyone was satisfied _that_ simple band is the token of the Enemy's?"

"Quite definitely," responded Elrond.

"Proof I found when last your Lord father granted me permission to enter Minas Tirith and study the archives of the Stewards," added Gandalf.

Boromir shifted in his seat and reached to take a small sip of wine from a goblet on the table in front of him. "I recall hearing his displeasure of you when I returned from patrol. So what is to be done with it?" he asked next, trying with only moderate success to keep an aggressive tone out of his voice.

"Frodo intends to throw it into Mount Doom," announced Aragorn, speaking for the first time. "As that appears to be the only way to destroy it."

"And you are?" he asked, turning to look at the lean man in weather stained clothes.

"The owner of the 'Sword that was broken,' the Ranger declared.

"This is Aragorn, Son of Arathorn," said Elrond. "The Chief of the Dunedain, and the direct descendant through many father's of Isildur, Elendil's son."

A stunned expression came upon Boromir as the import of the words just spoken sank in.

"If you wish to see the broken sword, come with me when our minor council here is done. I have given Narsil to Rivendell's Forge Master to remake a new. I intend to head south with Frodo soon, for all or only a part of his journey, if he would have me," at which declaration a smile lit the hobbit's face. "And I intend to carry a whole sword with me on that trip. Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to Gondor?"

"I came only to have my dream unraveled, not to beg favors, yet we are sore pressed by the Enemy. A strong sword arm against the foe would not be looked untoward," Boromir responded defensively. "But could not the Halfling's treasure be used to tame the foe? The dream spoke of a 'doom,' perhaps that depends on what we can make of it? A doom of a weapon turned against its own maker. Surely this would wreak a terrible havoc."

"That it would," agreed Elrond. "However it was made alone for Sauron. Its power is too great and its influence too corrupting for any to wield it. Persons already knowledgeable of great power could, for a time, rain fierce justice in mighty retribution on the vile. Then, as they bathed in the grim glow of its evil presence, their own hearts would turn as vile as those they first sought to smote. I will not take the Ring," stated the Elf Lord.

"Nor I," agreed Gandalf.

Boromir appeared crestfallen to the others in the room. "So be it," he whispered with bowed head.

Frodo approached the warrior from Gondor and placed his hands on a large, scarred one of Boromir's. "Do not despair. Your presence here reflects the strong fight remaining in Middle Earth to wrestle with the Enemy. Let Rivendell rejuvenate your spirit. Plans are still being made to confound him. Eat dinner with us tonight and meet others who have dared pull his tail."

"I thank you for your kind words my friend, if such I am able to call you," answered the tall, burly man.

* * *

While putting on his gloves to commence his first sword practice in many a month, Boromir's mind still spun topsy-turvy at all it had tried to encompass in the day since arriving at Imladris, or Rivendell as most here seemed to call it. Elrond's home, while not as imposing as the Tower of Ecthelion, in which he had been raised, certainly matched it for elegance and beauty. But an alien, elven beauty that put him as much on edge as the calming aura seeming to emanate through its every room soothed him.

After departing the Elf Lord's presence the previous day, the alleged Heir of Elendil had walked him to the Smithy where the 'Sword that was broken' was being heated and chanted over by a fey lady. He watched, entranced to see intricate designs etched in one part of the metal slowly fade from view while the blade glowed from more than just the fire of the forge. Enough of the stubbed off sword's original runes and art remained he could tell the blade matched the faded drawings and weather scoured statuary his childhood tutor had shown him of the legendary weapon.

Upon begrudgingly declaring his satisfaction with Narsil, the Ranger, clearly familiar with Elrond's home, had escorted him back to the main house and shown him to a guest room where his sparse belongings were already laid out. The time spent with the Dunedain chieftain had provided insight to his character: dangerous, without doubt, but intelligent and considerate too; all necessary qualities for a strong leader. The news shared about Saruman's treachery and its implications for the valiant Riders of Rohan struck hard, as had the details of the developing plans to combat Isengard. He had then given thanks that he shared his father's distrust of wizards and when crossing the Isen had consciously chosen to not seek help from that particular quarter in his long quest to find Elrond.

The Halfling had been true to his earlier kind words and retrieved him from an afternoon's rest for dinner. The hallways, while not as confusing as the mazed streets of Minas Tiriths, would have proven a challenge to negotiate without a guide. The meal was extraordinary, even for one sustained over the last hundred days on meager travel fare. Everything else tested his polite demeanor. Frodo shared a table with four other unremarkable Hobbits, as they called themselves, a wealthy dwarf lord and his son, apparently an old friend of the elder halfling, and four gregarious women. Women! One of whom was a near Haradrim looking witch, with strangely youthful white hair and startling blue eyes. All had discussed the strong and weak points of Master Elrond's plans as if they were lords deserving of seats amongst the elf's councils.

They had all been sooo pleased when Frodo told them the alleged scion of Numenor would accompany the Halfling for at least some of his upcoming journey to black Mordor. That had sparked speculation whether the Grey Wizard would go too, which all agreed with ill becoming certainty he would. Though only his eyes were open enough during this poor mannered proceeding to see an exchange of significant looks between the two dwarves. Next, a great Elf Lord had approached the table to offer his heartfelt goodbyes, as apparently he was to leave in the morning with the elder dwarf bearing messages for allies far off in the East. Before the Golden One moved on, they had regaled on a fantastical story of a battle where the women, Women(!), had helped him to drive off six of the dread Black Riders. Six! And perhaps even killed one, ridiculous!

The final eldritch occurrence of the evening came as they stood to depart the Feasting Hall when Aragorn and the most amazing female he had ever laid eyes on joined them. Arwen, dark of hair, pale and flawless of face, with moonlight forever flickering in her eyes. Regal and wise, yet youthful and sweet of temper, so you could freely unburden your soul without shame. And after the two continued on, they told him that … that … backwoods straggler was betrothed to this greatest wonder of Middle Earth?! Unbelievable!

"Unbelievable."

"What's that Boromir?" asked Rogue at the new man's muttering.

"Mmmnn, nothing." 'Women being taught the blade?!' "My gloves do not seem to fit correctly for some reason," so he made a minor demonstration of stuffing them between belt and tunic.

"Thanks again for agreeing last night to help us train today," said Kitty. "What with Aragorn taking the boys on another long march, we much rather have someone who knows what to do with the sharp end of the stick giving us tips."

"My pleasure, err, Lady Kitty. Do not your two elders share in this activity?"

"They usually spend the mornings off with Gandalf," replied Rogue.

"Lifting boulders, making fires, knocking over trees, walking on water," added Kitty.

"Ah, wizardry then," declared Boromir in a dry tone, further confirming his suspicions about the dark skinned one.

"Yeah, sort of," Rogue said with a smile. "C'mon Kitty, en garde or whatever already."

The two girls briefly posed for what might have been a sloppy salute, then they started circling each other, wooden practice blades occasionally darting out. That their eyes seemed alert was the sole positive Boromir could determine from the pathetic display before him. Balance: barely adequate. Form: sloppy. Feet: ill placed. Legs: lacking drive. Arm strength: weak. Fighting spirit: missing. And the chatter! The inane, mindless drivel of girls, not even up to the level of a woman's typical useless prattle. What did it matter the color of Lindir's new cloak or whether Haslanis' broach complemented her eyes, when an Umbar cutlass chopped for your guts or an orc's knife tried to hamstring you? Boromir ground his teeth.

Rogue laughed and rubbed at her upper arm. "You got me Kitty. I'll be your servant at lunch if you get me again before I get you."

The dam of Boromir's patience broke. "Is this a childish game?!" he roared suddenly. Both girls heads spun around at him taken by surprise at his yell.

"You!" he shouted, pointing at Rogue. "You have a scar across your head, and, if your tale last night is to be believed, you received it in honorable combat." He pulled out his sword. "What would you do if a real foe man attacked you now!" and started stomping toward her, keen metal blade swishing dangerously through the air, face pale and dangerously intent.

"Ahhh, shit!" shrieked Rogue, lifting her blade into the primary defensive stance Aragorn had shown her.

Thwack! A gouge of wood chipped into the air where Boromir smacked into her practice sword, almost tearing it from her grasp. Rogue saw his blade coming back and she hauled her stick back in front of her with all her might.

Smack! The blade broke in two and she stared at the wooden stump left in her hands. A big forearm came at her chest and thrust her painfully hard to the ground.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing dumb ass!" yelped Kitty, promptly drawing his attention. A feral snarl broke past his lips. He dropped his sword at Rogue's fallen feet and declared, "Get up and use that if you dare." Then he turned and started stomping toward Kitty, who quickly started backing up in fear of the attention she had just garnered for herself.

"I am an orc," he announced, pulling a serrated dagger from a sheath inside one of his boots. "After I've gutted you, your flesh will be made sweet in my stew pot."

Kitty's eyes bulged, 'he's stark raving mad,' she thought. "Help!" she screamed, turning and running across the garden toward the Last Homely House.

Rogue had rolled to her knees and was staring at her stained, muddy gloves. She looked up at Boromir, twenty feet past her, back turned, laughing at Kitty's flight. 'Fuck you mister!' she thought. She tugged her slippery gloves off, spat on her hands, rubbed them together, grabbed the pommel of Boromir's heavy weapon, and stood up. "Hey asshole," she shouted, "I'm ready for you now if you want to party!"

"Truly?" he challenged back with an unkind grin breaking across his face.

An equally ferocious smile split her face and she swung the blade in what she hoped gave a 'bring it on' air.

"Good!" he responded and burst at her in a sprint. Rogue didn't panic, time slowed, ice suddenly pumped through her veins. She drew the hefty sword back with two hands, knowing the long blade gave her the range on the tall man, waiting till his momentum would bring his midriff too close to avoid a waist level blow. Now! The sword started coming around right where she wanted it to. 'Son of a bitch, he's rolling!'

Boromir dropped toward the ground, compacting his large, bulky form, into a balled bundle of momentum. He felt the flat side of his blade bounce off his back and then he smacked into the girl's legs, upending her in a whirlwind of flying limbs. With an extra push of one leg he forced his torso atop hers sprawled on the turf and lightly grabbed her throat with one hand, while raising his daggered hand in a pose to strike. "Gack!" Vertigo seized him and weakness permeated his entire body.

"Wrong move, bub," whispered Rogue, placing a bare hand on the wrist at her throat and another bare hand on the wrist attached to the knife hovering over her.

* * *

His horse plummeted, a Southron lance through its neck. He let go his own spear and rolled out of the saddle to avoid being trapped and crushed by his dying steed. The sand absorbed some of the immense force from the impact. He speedily moved to a crouch, tugging out his broadsword. Clang! His head reverberated with an impact on his helm. Through stars, he saw another charger almost atop him. Something glittered. He ducked and wind whipped over his shoulder. Back stroke. Thunk! A scream. An arm holding a scimitar dropped on the sand next to him. The veiled and chain mailed rider now a dozen yards past slowly slid from his mount. Boromir quickly pivoted his head left and right, looking for more oncoming death. Fear, exhilaration, pain, and weariness coursed through his body. He was seventeen years old and he had just killed his first man.

* * *

"Lord Boromir," the delightful husky giggle came to his ear. "Behave yourself, someone will surely come down the hall."

"Ah Lady Cassanthra, I do not know how many more weeks my father will keep me billeted as an aide to Captain Hallas in the armory. Soon I will be gone back to patrolling the Poros or in Osgiliath, and only the memory of these fleeting kisses with you as I walk through the White Tower on errands to keep me company."

Smoldering lips press against him, taking his breath away.

"Already?" came the pouty reply.

"My Lord Father says there is much one must experience to be prepared for the day of Stewardship."

"There is much I would like to experience too," said the soft, luscious voice whispering in his ear.

* * *

A school aged boy plays with puppies on a gorgeous, intricately patterned rug with a beautiful, sad faced, flower of a lady. The two giggle as the puppies lick their faces and nibble at their fingers. Nearby, a toddler, another boy, struggles to pull himself into a stand next to a low stool. A puppy bounds over, knocks him down, and promptly starts licking. The toddler begins crying. "Oh Faramir," whispers the lady who bounds over to cuddle the fallen child.

* * *

A stern, middle aged man in flowing robes, paces back and forth across a luxuriously adorned apartment. "Is this the wisest course, my son?" he challenged. "Or a rash reaction to a minor set back, lacking the vision of your intellect?"

"The burning of the ship could not be left unpunished. The merchants of Harlond and Pelargir will deliver a formal complaint did they not see vigorous action on our part."

"And choosing your brother to lead?"

"He has led patrols before. His men know him brave and smart, but also not inconsiderate to their well being. The risks he takes will be judicious ones."

"Placing himself more in danger than his men?"

A chill entered him at the thought of his brother meeting an ill end. "Perhaps. Death lurks for all, even myself. Gondor must have a Steward's heir worthy of it, should I fall. And as a Captain of Gondor, I must have the trust of its Steward to make the best decisions I see fit."

A tight smile split the man's face. "Good, Boromir. Remember, a leader must always plan should the hardest occur. Return to your duty." The older man retired deeper into his chambers, hands almost imperceptibly clutching in nervousness at his robes.

* * *

Boromir blew the mighty horn in short, staccato notes. The squad on his left began backing up quickly, but maintained a unified front. A mob of fifty or more orcs chased after them. The squad on the right hinged, maintain contact with the left squad to keep an open flank from revealing itself. Boromir looked right and left at the dozen riders around him to make sure their attention stayed on him. He judged the withdrawal to be just … about … right! He dug in his spurs and the mount surged forward, quickly followed by the other riders. At a hundred feet they had the space to gain sufficient momentum. The pounding of their hooves alerted the retreating squad, which broke left and right to allow them through.

His arm hewed left and right and left. Blood splattered. Orcs fell, dead or soon to be dead under the trampling of iron shod hooves. An axe scored a glancing blow off his armored ribs. His pointed boot struck the offending orc in the throat. The weight of the charge smashed the minimal cohesion of the orcs and they broke. The left squad followed behind to slit the throats of any creature still moving. The squad on the right now stomped forward, blade, shield, step, blade, shield, step; joining the offensive to move against the orcs in front of them.

Nine horses now moved around the open edge of the remaining orcs. His head dipped to avoid a thrown spear. His arm hewed down again, and again, and again. More blood flew to the floor of the defile he'd led his company into in error ten minutes earlier. The remaining orcs now broke too, flying away down the narrowing ravine, past the few corpses left of his first squad, the ambushed squad, the squad who's bodies would feed orcs tonight.

He stopped and blew his horn. His company ended their pursuit. "Gather what bodies of our comrades you can," he shouted out. "We leave in two minutes. Riders, double up with the seriously wounded."

He wanted to both cry and throw up. He always knew he would lead men into disaster one day. He was twenty three and that day had finally come. Knowing, in his head, this day would come still did not reduce the strength of the bitter bile he now tasted in his mouth, in his heart.

* * *

A strongly built boy held the hand of a younger, slenderer boy as they both stared at the drawn, pale face of the faded, beautiful woman lying motionless on the bed in front of them. A few tears rested on the face of the stern man next to them.

"I loved her," the man declared, looking down at the boys. "I shouldn't have. She distracted me too much once I became Steward. Gondor depends on its Steward to guide her through these evil times. When the Steward is distracted, things are missed, then our people start to die, then Gondor starts to die. I will not be distracted again."

"Can we still love mother?" asked the older boy in a tremulous voice.

"Cherish her memory my sons. She loved you both. But she would also want you to grow up to become men, strong men, who love Gondor as she did. As much as I do. Respect her wishes. Be strong in your love of Gondor. Now kiss her goodbye. The funeral makers must prepare her for the burial ceremony. We must use the people's grief for their beloved adopted daughter to wield them tighter to us. Us who will keep them safe."

The stern man turned and left the two boys to say goodbye on their own.

* * *

He felt unmanned. The Black Rider came charging down the causeway again, leading more orcs and a cavetroll at them. All twenty of them who remained. He heard screams of terror and prayed none of them were his. He heard splashes in the Anduin beneath him. More had jumped to the safety of the water. He thought to himself he was lucky they'd drunk the last of their water hours ago, or he might be pissing himself.

"How are they coming with the bridge?" he asked, hoping his voice held no tremble.

"Can't … tell," came Faramir's slow drawled reply, apparently unaffected by the dread which churned his big brother's bowels. The bow hummed as his brother finally released the tension of the string to send an arrow flying straight and true. "Damn!" his brother cried.

He too had seen the arrow jink to the side at the last second from in front of the Black Rider. At least the wretched witch, for magic it must surely have, took the hint and pulled back, letting its grotesque minions lead another assault to capture the only intact crossing from Ithilien. Now only ten men held while engineers tried to lever the surprisingly tough makeshift bridge into the deep and fast waters running beneath.

He grabbed the thick spike. "Hardros, grab the back end, we'll use this on the troll." Then he shouted, "Shield wall lads, they're almost here."

He poked the twenty foot shaft, but felt his grip on the pole weaken the same moment he heard a shriek behind him. He turned his head and saw a black arrow rooted in Hardros' eye. Then brave, true Faramir leapt to grab the back of the pike. His face smiled at his older brother. Courage and strength suddenly filled his fear ravaged body. He turned, lunged and the pike head sank into the armpit of the troll, causing it to drop its raised tree stump of a club.

* * *

The stern man looked older, ancient before his time, dragged down by the responsibilities of being Steward.

"Where is the noble Gondrihil and his daughter, the Lady Cassanthra?"

"I needed a new set of eyes in Anfalas. I am unsure we receive our proper tithe from the tin mines of Pinnath Gelin. Gondrihil is an accomplished counter of value, so I deemed him an appropriate functionary to send."

"Did you need him to take his daughter to the teat end of Gondor?"

"Oh, she will travel only as far as Belfalas. She is to marry a distant cousin of theirs who owns several hundred acres there." The old man cackled slightly, "An olive groove I believe."

In an instant a storm brewed across his face, and unarticulated sound slid from his lips.

"Do NOT blubber at me boy!" the aging man thundered. "You are a jewel of Gondor. A thing of great value. Do not doubt that Gondrihil and his pretty, demure, sly daughter both had already a judged your worth, and found it of great interest."

"How dare you!" he thundered.

"I dare because I love Gondor. The marriage of Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, will bring wealth, or strength of arms, or safety to Gondor. Not to whomever he marries." The stern, graying man stood, and pointed at his oldest son.

"Love Gondor as I love Gondor, or not at all. Now leave me, and think on your near folly." Not waiting for a response, the man turned, hands clutched almost imperceptibly in nervousness at his robes, and retired deeper into his chambers.

* * *

With a strength she didn't know she possessed, Rogue lifted the heavy body of Boromir off herself and rolled him on to his back on the damp grass of Sun Dial garden. She shook his hand and the dagger fell out of his limp grasp. Finally, she released her hold on the large man. She propped herself to her knees, found the knife and tossed it aside. His sword, which she'd held only a minute earlier, had flown a good ten feet from where he'd tackled her. She no longer feared Boromir, but smart was smart, and when he came to the experience she'd just put him through probably wouldn't put him in a happy place. She felt dirty all over and wished the plumbing options of Rivendell included showers. Some counseling sessions with Jean were definitely in her future. She now waited for Boromir to return to himself.

After a few minutes his eyes flickered open as his mind bobbed to consciousness through an eddy of memories and emotions. After a while he realized two bright brown eyes were staring at him through a young lady's face. "You are a witch too," he stated in a tired voice.

"Sort of," came an equally soft reply.

"All that I have experienced … All that I … am. You have seen this … yes?"

The face hovering above nodded in agreement, the large brown eyes still piercing into him. His hands clenched in reactionary anger at the violation, but amazingly the rest of him stayed strangely placid.

"It is … uncomfortable."

The face chuckled very softly and again nodded in agreement. Finally a "yes" squeaked out from it.

"There is much to consider. But fear not, I would not, I will not, hurt you or your friends."

The face smiled at him. "I know Boromir. You would never hurt a woman. You only want to keep people safe." The sweet face moved back from him and he saw a clear, blue sky above him.

"Good," he grunted.


	14. Chapter 14 - A Merry Idea

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 14 – A Merry Idea**

"Hey, look what the cat dragged in," interjected Kitty, interrupting the dinner time conversation at her table in the Feasting Hall. A weary Frodo, Pippin, and Sam had trudged through the double doors and made their way to 'Misfit Corner' as the teenage girls had taken to calling their usual location at meal time in Rivendell. Chairs were scooted over to make room for the three tired hobbits amongst Storm, Jean, Rogue, Kitty, Bilbo, Merry, and newest addition Gimli.

"Did Aragorn take it easier on you today?" asked Merry.

"Hardly," snorted Pippin.

"I think these training marches might be starting to work," announced Frodo.

"We got back to the room and realized we weren't tired enough to go straight to sleep, so we thought we'd get some dinner while it was still warm," said Sam.

"We are glad to have you my lads," declared Bilbo. "Pass them some tankards, Gimli, you're closest. I'll go see about some plates." With a nose for the kitchen, the elder statesman of the group hustled off.

Frodo, accepting a draught, saw with pleasure that with his father now returning back to the Lonely Mountain, Gimli seemed to be accepted into the group in Gloin's place. He looked around at the friendly faces and noted one missing from the previous day. "Where's Boromir?" he asked.

"Uhhm..." "Errr..." quickly slipped from the mouths of the two girls, with embarrassed expressions to match their incoherent mumblings.

"There was an incident today with this Boromir fellow," Storm said firmly.

"What kind of incident?" asked Pippin.

"Did he get hurt?" asked Sam.

"He will be fine," announced Storm.

"Then what happened?" wondered Frodo.

"During sword practice this morning, Rogue touched Boromir," said Storm. Realizing the three new comers weren't picking up on the significance of the action, she added, "Rogue and Boromir touched … skin to skin. He passed out and Rogue collected some of his memories."

Three startled "Ohs!" promptly popped out of Frodo, Sam, and Pippin. They had all been told several times about Rogue's unique … ability, and while it made them a tad nervous, weeks of being in her company had shown them how serious she took protecting herself and others from it. Their natural reaction at the news was to immediately look at their friend, which only made her more nervous and self-conscious than she already was.

Feeling defensive for her friend, Kitty broke in, "He went all crazy on us because he didn't think we were taking our practice seriously. He knocked Rogue over and then came at me waving a knife like a lunatic." Whether it was her words or the exaggerated arm movements that accompanied them, the three hobbits eyes widened in surprise.

"So the fair Kitty went in search of help," rumbled Gimli helpfully.

"Yeah, if running around with your head chopped off qualifies as 'help'," muttered Rogue.

"Not fair!" shouted Kitty.

"No yelling," declared Storm sternly. "We went over this earlier. No one was wrong this morning. We learn from our mistakes and we move on."

"Several of us were still gathered together after having said goodbye to my father's party when Kitty gained our attention," said Gimli. "Myself, the warrior Amdhros, Master Elrond's son Elrohir, and that Elf from Mirkwood, Legolas. We all came running at her behest, but Rogue already had the tall man well in hand."

"How?" asked Frodo dubiously, not knowing if he really wanted to hear the answer.

Gimli chuckled, picking up on Frodo's concern. "They were merely talking quietly when we arrived."

"Most people pass out when I touch them. That's what Boromir did. The big galoot had fallen on me, so I used his own strength to roll him off," Rogue finally burst out, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the conversation and wanting it to end as quickly as possible. "I probably didn't hold him for more than twenty seconds, so he woke up pretty quick. When he did, he knew somehow that I'd seen some of his memories, which is weird, cause I don't remember anyone else ever figuring that out before."

"From feeling his emotions and memories, Rogue knew he was mostly upset at how lightly they were taking their sword drills and had only wanted to scare them into taking it more seriously," said Jean taking over the story from Rogue, who she'd spent time with trying to help her psyche handle what she'd downloaded from the man.

"And you weren't taking it seriously, were you girls?" said Storm.

"No." "No."

"Then what happened to Boromir?" asked Pippin.

"Amdhros and Elrohir helped take the big man back to his room," said Gimli. "He was still feeling a bit wobbly in the head. Then she," and he jerked a thumb toward Rogue," felt so guilty about her poor sword efforts earlier, she asked me and the Mirkwood fancy shirt to stay and spar with them." Gimli laughed at the memory of it and rubbed bruised knuckles, "She proved exceedingly competent."

"Only because she still had memories of Boromir's skills," announced Kitty a bit peevishly.

"Ahh, but the focus was all hers, wasn't it?" challenged the dwarf. "Besides, you did better too after a while, once you had to pay attention to me instead of that pretty face."

"Well … maybe."

"So is Boromir still feeling wobbly? Is that why he isn't here?" Frodo inquired.

"Embarrassed," Jean stated. "To know another has shared your memories has unnerved him undoubtedly. I'm guessing he'd prefer not to run into Rogue or Kitty for a few days till he sorts through his feelings about it, so he's probably just staying in his room."

"Frodo?" asked Rogue.

"Yes."

"Do you guys think you'd have room for me and Kitty in tomorrow's hike? I think we'd like to avoid running into Boromir for a couple of days too."

"We'd be happy to have you," said Sam.

"But don't think we'll slack our pace for you," declared Pippin.

* * *

"May I?" asked Galdor politely.

"Of course," replied Storm with a smile. Jean, Bilbo, and Merry moved slightly to allow the elf room to sit next to the dark skinned mutant.

"I notice that you are without your two younger companions this morning," said Galdor.

"They chose to escort Frodo and Aragorn into the hills today," said Storm.

"Ah, discretion for the feelings of the visitor from Gondor, very kind," replied the elf from the Havens.

"And for their own feelings," announced Jean. "Yesterday was not easy for them either."

Galdor nodded his head in agreement.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence this morning?" continued Jean. "You've already eaten, we saw you at the head table with Elrond."

"I believe you already suspect this is not a social call. Elrond has informed me that the mission I will head to the dwarves of Ered Luin, as well as to the Havens of course, will depart in three mornings. If you wish to journey west in pursuit of Tom Bombadil, you may depart with us and we will provide scouts to assist you in the Old Forest to look for him."

"The offer is generous, but not unexpected from what you and others had already said. Thank you," answered Storm.

"So you will come then?"

"Probably. Though this Bombadil trickster seems a slender reed to rest our hopes of returning home upon, but so far he appears to be the only hope. Still, this is an important decision, we must all agree upon it."

"Even the children?"

"Yes," interjected Jean. "Even them."

Galdor paused, a thoughtful look upon his face. "If there is any doubt on your parts, might I suggest a slightly alternate path."

Four curious sounding "ohs" came in response to this suggestion.

"Middle Earth, my home, is in grave peril, and I thank you for the assistance all of you have already given in protecting Frodo and in making clever plans with which to confound the Enemy. As I have pondered on the possible success of the Haven's fleet in the coming conflict, I have found a missing element which would guarantee its victory."

"And that would be … ?" asked Storm.

"You, Storm."

"Me?" "Her?" "Her?" "Her?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Your powers," he declared. "Think, it is obvious. With your command of the winds, you could power our sails and deprive it to the Corsairs, or even drive them ashore. Should a true fight occur, your lightning could devastate them from miles away, never putting our vessels at risk."

"But …, I just assumed … don't you already have weather magic of a sort?"

Galdor chuckled lightly. "We do, but compared to you it is like a butterfly trying to flutter its wings to make a breeze. Most in the Havens can feel the coming currents, both of sea and of wind, to take the best advantage of them. However, only the strongest of us can nudge these things even slightly to change direction or to create the faintest of winds in a lull. To summon a gale to wreck havoc upon a foe, is alas, beyond us, and luckily also those we will likely face."

"Wow Galdor, that is asking a lot," said Storm.

"And you have already given much. Yet this request would not prevent you from seeking Bombadil later, with our full aid as well. In the meantime, we would gladly welcome Jean," and he nodded toward her, "Rogue, and Kitty to stay in the Havens till the fleet returned, which surely it would with you aiding it."

"An interesting proposal Galdor," said Jean. "All of us feel deeply for the dangers facing Middle Earth; however, again, this would need to be a decision made by all four of us."

"Definitely," echoed Storm.

"That you consider this, pleases me," the elf announced. "Now, if you will excuse me…"

Thwack. All present heard the sound of a chair under the table being kicked. "uhh, Galdor, before you go, Bilbo and I would like to ask you something about your trip back west through the Shire, wouldn't we Bilbo?" said Merry.

"Uhm, oh yes, we would," added Bilbo.

"How can I be of service to you?"

"Well Merry and the others who didn't get to attend the Council pretty much pulled and prodded everything about it me and poor Frodo could remember," droned Bilbo.

"And later, when both old Bilbo and myself were feeling down that there was no job for us to help with, well it reminded me of something they said you said, see."

"I take it you think you can be of service to me?"

"Yeah, sort of," answered Merry.

"Oh this is going to be good," whispered Jean.

"Bilbo remembered you said that once the Enemy knew the Ring was here, in Rivendell, the first thing they would think we'd do with it would be to send it to the West."

"Yes, but Gandalf said the West would not accept it."

"Right," agreed Merry. "But do the scary beasts of Mordor know that?"

"Hmmmmnnn," came the elf's response.

"All these strategies you and Storm and the others have been thinking of are to distract attention away from Frodo sneaking into Mordor to drop the Ring down that fiery mountain," Merry continued.

"And what better a distraction than making a big show of us sending the Ring exactly where they think we would send it?" added Bilbo.

"To the Havens, in the exact opposite direction that Frodo will actually go!" Merry near shouted in excitement.

"And who better than I to go," declared Bilbo. "Thanks to Gollum, they already know that Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton has the Ring."

"Think of the hullabaloo that will occur in the Shire with old Bilbo showing up plain as day twenty years after disappearing. Word will surely get lickety-split to any spies that Mordor or that turncoat Saruman have got poking around. And with a grand old guard of mighty Elf Lords accompanying us, to reinforce the idea that something _big_ is heading West ..."

"That would tie in nicely and help explain why you'd be gathering a large fleet in the Havens," added Storm. "Protection for the Ring when it sails West."

"And the dwarf army gathering in the Ered Luin would be to hold the back door till the fleet sails," added Jean.

Galdor's head jerked back and forth between the two hobbits and two mutants for several seconds. Finally he looked over at the head table of the Feasting Hall.

Bilbo pointed, "I think I saw Master Elrond leave that way a minute ago."

Galdor got up hastily from his chair. "If you will excuse me …?" And he departed before receiving any sort of a response.

"You scamps," laughed Jean.

"Brilliant," uttered Storm.

"Ya can't keep a good hobbit down," declared Merry with a twinkle in his eyes.

* * *

(_pick up another one_)

(_ok_)

A fourth multi-ton rock rose out of the waters of the Bruinen to hover twenty feet in the air.

"Well done Jean," exclaimed Storm. "Can you juggle them?"

"Why not simply keep two in position and raise the other two up and down," suggested Gandalf.

"Easy … for … you … to say," grunted the red haired mutant.

(_tsk, tsk, concentrate, musn't let us distract you little bird (amusement)_)

((_%$# !))_

Two boulders started slowly rising, then checked themselves to a stop and started back down toward the river bed. Storm clapped her hands.

"Faster, child, faster," Gandalf suddenly chastised.

Again the boulders started rising, this time noticeably quicker, and even more so on the descent.

"Higher, higher," pleaded the wizard, a grin appearing on his face. "Faster!"

Sweat broke out on Jean's forehead as two of the large slabs of granite her mind manipulated began to more and more resemble yo-yos. The two in stationary orbit started to tremble as she focused more and more of her telekinetic might on keeping the objects moving in opposition to gravity.

Satisfied with her progress, Gandalf nodded to Storm. The snow haired mutant grinned mischievously for a second, until her eyes clouded over in a milky hue. A strong gust of wind, not to be unexpected on an overcast late October morning, came ripping down the banks of the Bruinen. However, this one seemed to blow only as far as Jean and then wrapped itself and whatever detritus it could pick up from the forest floor in a whirlwind around the red haired woman.

"Cheating!" shouted Jean threw the increasing hum of the wind. Now sticks began to be picked up by the rampaging breeze that draped around the suddenly embattled mutant. "ouch, ouch, ouch" Jean said as things bumped into her, distracting her.

(_watchout!_)

Gandalf and Storm jerked their heads up to see two large rocks flying willy-nilly through the air. Gandalf gave a shout of "woo-whoo!" and skirted back ten feet to ensure not being accidentally crushed. Storm felt secure in her location closer to the river bank and unfortunately for her stayed put. Splash! The two stationary boulders hovering over the Bruinen also eluded Jean's control and plunked back down hard into the river and gave Storm a solid spraying. The wind around Jean promptly died out.

"Oohhh, I'm sorry Storm, I didn't do that on purpose," the red head laughed.

"But you aren't sorry either," Storm replied dryly, which her body no longer was.

"Come, come, the day is too chilly," declared Gandalf. "Warm your friend with some fire."

Jean gave a small snort at the wizard's constant prodding to flex her ability. Within thirty seconds the burnable debris that the departed wind had dropped around her were whisked into a teepee shape any girl scout on campout would have been proud of. Satisfied, a small flame suddenly appeared in the palm of Jean's hand. 'Swoosh.' Lifting her palm closer to her face, she dramatically blew on it, causing the fire to float across the air to nestle among the kindling.

As the fire took, Gandalf kneeled down next to it and began rubbing his hands together. "That's more like it," he said with a smile. "Do you think you will go in search of Tom Bombadil, or will you take Galdor up on his offer?"

Storm stepped up to the fire and took her soaked cloak off. "We told you earlier, same as we told him, we'll all need to decide what to do together."

"Of course, but you must have a personal inclination already," he cajoled, in search of an answer.

"Perhaps," came her non-committal response.

"Jean, is your Storm always so coy?" the wizard teased.

Jean laughed, "Perhaps."

The wizard sighed at being stymied. "Galdor is not the only one with an alternative to offer. It sounds as though Bilbo and Merry have put their hobbit brains to smart use." The ladies nodded their heads in agreement as the fire started to warm them. "Another hobbit has been using his brain as well," Gandalf continued.

"Oh?" "Really?"

"Yes. Frodo. Last night as I walked him to his room and I said I would surely join with Aragorn to accompany him and Sam, for at least part of their journey."

"That's no surprise," Storm said.

"No, no I suppose that isn't. I also informed him that since Boromir will want to return to Gondor the chances would be great that Elrond would choose him to go as well." The two women nodded in agreement at the sense of that prediction. "Frodo then asked me 'could the ladies come too?'"

"What?!" "Nooo!"

"Truly. I reminded him it was for Elrond to ask and _if_ he did so, for you to agree … or not." Having planted the seed, Gandalf stopped speaking to see what would grow of it. In the subsequent silence, Jean and Storm exchanged uncomfortable looks over the fire. The wizard suspected other, even quieter communication occurred as well. Politely allowing them time alone together, Gandalf stood up and wandered over to investigate the boulder that had dropped near him. It had split almost in half on impact.

"Anything interesting," Jean asked a while later, after having joined the wizard.

"Quartz and a vein of gold running through the middle," which he proceeded to point out with his staff.

"Pretty."

"I shall let one of Elrond's craftsmen know of it. One of them might make something of it."

"No don't," said Jean in an oddly strained voice. "Let me. Could you stand back ... please."

The grey clad wizard followed the request, curious as to the mutant's intent. He watched ripples of flame in the shape of wings spring out along Jean's arms. The flame spread and extended into the shiny split of the boulder, caressing the granite. Sharp cracking sounds erupted as the heat drove moisture out of the stone, causing more parts of the granite to splinter. Finally the flame retracted until only a small orange, red bundle hovered over the mutant's cupped hands. Gandalf immediately noticed the absence of the mineral seam from the heated rock. Jean's hands started moving around the edge of the small ball of fire, as if somehow kneading it from the outside.

"Voila," she whispered. The flame spluttered out, revealing, hanging in the air, a palm sized golden pendant in the shape of a bird, wings outstretched.


	15. Chapter 15 - A Misty Mountain Hop

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 15 – A Misty Mountain Hop, Where the Spirit Flies**

If the sun were strong enough to burn through the overcast skies, Rogue and Kitty might have been able to tell it was just past mid day. As it was, the fact they were paused on a rocky, tree spotted slope eating the meager lunches they'd packed pretty much told them all they needed to know about what time it was ... time to start the long, tiring loop back toward Rivendell. The two mutants, three hobbits, and solitary Ranger had left the comforts of the Last Homely House at dawn, initially taking the trail to the High Pass. After two or so hours, they'd broken off north on an inconspicuous path only Aragorn would have realized was there. Another hour brought them to a boulder stepped ford over the Bruinen, or at least a major feeder stream to it. Then they'd marched another two hours over the foothills edging the Misty Mountains.

Travel had been mostly silent, with the exception of the occasional point of relevant ranger lore from Aragorn or Rogue remembering some new, amazing tidbit of Gondor still lingering in her memory from the previous day's encounter with Boromir. Many a tidbit she shared included a depressing nugget of how terrible things looked for Gondor, pressed on from south and east by strong, cruel enemies. By unspoken agreement after the third short water break, Rogue's five companions decided to equally share the pleasure of her new enthusiasm through a continuing adjustment to their order of march and who sat near who during the subsequent breaks in the hike. The greatest relief had come when Aragorn suggested they practice for an hour how quietly they could march.

"I think we'll resume walking again soon Rogue," declared Pippin. "Why don't you give me your bottle and I'll go refill it in that trickle over there?"

Rogue straightened a stiffening leg and promptly agreed to the hobbit's kind, and unbeknownst to her, self serving offer. "Sure Pip, that would be great." She then swiveled her head to see who else was in ear shot.

Pippin smiled, picked up both his and her bottles, and started picking his way over to where a very minor spring more oozed than bubbled up from among some rocks a hundred yards away. He hummed a little ditty he'd made about Farmer Maggot as with surprisingly still fresh feet he hopped and skipped across and slightly up the slope to the watering hole. Holding one bottle in the water, he looked up when he heard a bird calling. Then he noticed a small rock sliding down the dusty, weather rutted slope almost directly at him. His gaze followed the route the rock had taken and came to a gnarled tree stump near the hill top. A stump with a sparsely haired pair of ears. And an eye peeking out of the side of it.

Pippin stood up, and scratched his head as he gawked at the tree stump, not understanding what he saw. What looked like possibly a hand snaked out, seeming to make a gesture. Fear started to rumble in the hobbits belly. Finally realization dawned on him.

"Goblins!" he screamed with all his might. A spear flashed through the air, aimed right for him. And he jumped right into the puddle and hunkered as low as he could.

At the hobbit's yell, Aragorn popped to his feet, eyes quickly scanning, drawing his sword. "Everyone down," he shouted.

A wave of goblins popped up along the top of the slope and twenty or thirty spears rose in an arc, then plummeted down at them. Kitty, sitting near Frodo and Sam, immediately reached out to grab a hold of them both. A spear landed in Kitty's foot, one angled through Sam's thigh, and a third through Frodo's midriff, all, thankfully, now insubstantial. Almost all insubstantial.

Only Frodo heard a small metallic 'ting' echoing off the rocky slope. "The Ring," he shrieked. Jerking himself out of Kitty's grasp, the now solid hobbit began chasing a bouncing small gold circle as it hop-scotched its way down hill.

Aragorn's blade whipped back and forth faster than the eye could follow to smack aside the only two spears that came too close to him, then he started charging uphill to place himself as much in front of his friends as possible to receive the oncoming mob.

Rogue dodged to one side to avoid a spear coming right at her, and then jerked her upper torso back toward its original position to evade a second, which scored the outside of her left arm. The jolt of pain didn't dissuade her from jerking out the sword she'd been lugging all morning and moving upward toward the ugly, snarling mouthed creatures in imitation of Aragorn.

Pippin, spewing water from his mouth, climbed out of his emergency bolt hole and started running back to his friends. Keeping an eye at the oncoming charge, he judged he'd make it back to them before the wings of the charge had time to wrap past Strider and have at them. And he needed to get his Barrow blade before that happened, because he'd foolishly left it with his backpack. "Never again, Pippin, my lad," he nervously muttered to himself as he ran.

Aragorn's strong arm had killed two and mortally injured a third before the first goblin was close enough to engage Rogue. The things were smaller than she was and carried blades ranging from mere knives to short swords, so she should have the range. Clang. Sword on sword contact. The thing moved fast and lashed out, slipping under her guard. She jumped back, suffering only a small cut on the inside of her right forearm. Her sloppy mistake instantly filled her with determination. She cut back at neck level, it tried to duck its head and the sword tugged at her hand as the blade dug across the creatures tooth filled face. Fear, exhilaration, pain, and weariness coursed through her body. She was seventeen years old and she had just killed for the first time. But there wasn't even a split second to reflect as two more of the things were upon her. Thrust. Clang. Swipe. Grunt. Stomp. Scream. Parry.

"Here," shouted Sam throwing something sharp and dangerous toward his friend. And Pippin, snatching his blade out of the air, turned and swung at the goblin almost on top of him, ripping a wicked gash down its chest. "Humph," he grunted. He'd missed the subsequent goblin who jumped him, tumbling both to the ground. "My ear!" he screamed, feeling gnarled, razor sharp teeth take a bit out of him.

"Grumph," and then the weight a top him lost focus, then motion. He scrambled free of the creature, now spouting blood from the back of its neck, as Sam held off two on the north side and Kitty three on the south. Luckily he hadn't lost the grip on his weapon and he immediately charged over in support of the nearly overwhelmed girl. The change in odds came as a great relief and Kitty skewered one in exchange for a slice on a thigh. The next swipe passed clean through her, and as she solidified she rammed her blade straight into the attacker's neck. "I got this one Pippin, go help Sam," she shouted and the hobbit immediately bounced over to help his slowly retreating friend.

Rogue had killed a second goblin, but gotten her sword stuck in the chest of a third, allowing two more to tackle her. A head butt stunned her for a second, and then she felt long nailed fingers wrap around her hair lifting her face to peer into the large mouth, narrow eyes, and big hooked nose of the creature pinning her down. Seeing a blade hovering, instinct took over and she lashed her neck forward, teeth chomping down on the protruding proboscis before her. A howl of pain erupted first, but then as the length of time her lips and teeth held on to the snout increased, the goblin's eyes rolled into the back of its head.

A new howl exploded over the battle sight, this one from Rogue. A howl of madness, as the strength, alien nature, and cruel memories of the orc she tapped of its miserable life swamped her. She teetered on insanity and catatonia as in a single second she fought the fiercest battle of her life, a battle to maintain a semblance of herself, of humanity. 'I am not an animal. I am Rogue. I am X-man. I am whole. You will not conquer.' A duality suddenly emerged within her. A rage filled every sinew, but her mind became crystal clear, every move a balance of choreography between judicious thought and horrible action.

From down the slope, Frodo had finally retrieved the Ring. He looked back up at the fight facing his friends. Aragorn had taken down at least eight orcs. Sam, Pippin, and Kitty held off six more, who seemed unenthusiastic in carrying an attack forward over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Rogue he couldn't see, then a body flipped in the air, and feet lashed out from the ground to catch another goblin in the stomach. Rogue leapt up from the ground, coming into sight. He watched as the mutant grabbed the face of the clutched over goblin, causing it to crumble. He observed, mesmerized, as Rogue yanked a blade from the corpse of one, swayed slightly out of the way of a descending blade, then in the blink of an eye, cut the attacking orc's arm off. Then Frodo saw Rogue run and jump twenty feet through the air into a knot of goblins waving their knifes at Sam. With nothing more than bare hands, 'Oh Rogue, bare hands' he thought sadly, he saw her start to pummel them all. Beating them to death!

* * *

Aragorn saw the glare of torches first upon reaching the top of a rise in the trail the group of six fight weary companions trudged on. "Help has come from Rivendell," he announced as the last hint of pink tinged the cloudy skies to the far west.

"Good," grunted both Pippin, with an exceptionally painful ankle, and Kitty, with an ugly, long gash on her thigh that the Ranger had dressed as best he could. Each leaned on a large stick to help keep upright.

Frodo and Sam took off, running dangerously down the twisty trail toward the mountain stream they'd crossed over by on boulders only eight hours earlier. "Ho!" "Here we are!" they shouted in nervous glee at the prospect of certain safety and an easier return to the Last Homely House.

Kitty and Pippin next passed their guide, flashing him exhausted smiles, and started to hobble down the incline toward the rushing, gurgling water. Aragorn waited for the last member of the group to appear. As Rogue floated into view, the booming echo of Gandalf's voice reverberated across the topographical wrinkle in front of them, "Frodo! So happy to see you lad!"

"We are no longer alone Rogue," Aragorn said to the stone faced girl.

"I'm never alone," she declared, anger rippling across her face.

* * *

Kitty saw Jean, Storm, Gandalf hugging Frodo, Elrond, Sam already sitting on a small horse being checked over by an elf under torch light, and many other elves on the other side of the stream. The relief she felt at seeing her two teachers and the others overwhelmed her and she began to cry again.

Pippin looked up at his friend and realized she simply couldn't continue. "Uh, hi there," he spoke loudly. "We are sooo glad to see you. But I'm afraid me and Kitty are a bit banged up. Can someone help us across?"

In an instant he felt himself lifted off the ground and carried by invisible hands over the stream. He landed next to an elf lady carrying a shoulder bag. "Hullo, don't think we've met yet. I'm Peregrin Took," he stated with as much dash as he could muster. "Banged my ankle up something terrible when that goblin tackled me, can you help? If you'll pardon, I'm done with standing, let alone walking."

The elf smiled and picked the hobbit up before he fell over. "We brought horses," she said gently settling him down on a saddle. "Let me have a look." And to Pippin's gasps, she pulled off his boot to poke and prod his swollen, purpling joint.

Kitty landed beside Jean and Storm. Her crying body promptly stumbled into their embrace. They hugged her back fiercely, crooning reassurance to the distraught teenager. "You're alright." "You're safe now." "We'll fix you up." "Cry all you need to child."

Jean peaked quickly into Kitty's mind, but saw no need to make any adjustments to her. The experience had been horrible, both mentally and physically, but she'd held together surprisingly well all things considered. The stress of keeping it together enough emotionally to walk back, as well as her body's total exhaustion was pushing her to the edge. Jean's clinical opinion assessed that tending to her wound, a good night's sleep, and a couple outpourings of her grieve, anger, and bewilderment to a caring listener would help her state of mind tremendously.

With the reassuring presence of her friends, Kitty started to pull herself somewhat together, allowing coherent words to flow out, in between the sobs and gasps for air, "It was horrible. I had to … I had to … kill these … things. Oh god, they were so … wrong."

"You had to protect yourself Kitty, had to help save your friends," whispered Storm urgently.

"I know, I know. But that wasn't the worse. … Rogue, she …"

"Is Rogue alright?" Storm asked anxiously. Jean nudged Storm to get her attention and then nodded yes.

"No … I mean yes … I mean she's hurt, but not bad."

"Then what is it child?"

"Oh shit, Storm, I've heard, everybody at the school has heard stories of Wolverine … Logan, going crazy, berserk like. Oh god. Damn. Rogue, she … it was worse than I could ever imagine. She must have touched a … a bastard … and she completely snapped!"

"How? What did she do?"

"I want to go homeeeeee!"

"Katherine Anne Pryde, WHAT .. DID .. SHE .. DO?"

"She beat them … She beat them with her bare fists … She ripped off an arm, she fucking ripped off an arm! She didn't stop till they were all dead … all dead. And I .. I .. I can't blame her. These things were soooo nasty, revolting. Boromir wasn't wrong yesterday, they'd have eaten us if they'd won."

"Did she try to hurt you or the others," a clearly frightened Storm whispered.

"No." And Kitty emphatically nodded her head in the negative. "Me and the boys were freaked out. She didn't cry or scream or make any noise, her face just had the most intense, but somehow blank, look to it. She roamed all over the slope, snapping the necks of the injured. When she killed the last one, she just stood over it, panting. Aragorn finally walked over to her and said, 'They're all dead now.'" Kitty started crying again.

"And … ?"

"She said, 'not enough,' then she tore some cloth off the last one to wrap around her hands. She's hardly spoken since then. She's been pretty much avoiding us."

* * *

Approaching the stream, Rogue saw the others gathered on the other side. Storm and Jean were comforting Kitty, but she could tell they had spotted her. With firm steps Rogue hopped across the boulders to ford the stream. She resumed walking on the trail in a determined, but slow pace. The bloodied teenager didn't acknowledge the presence of her friends, her teachers, or anyone. Her head fixed straight ahead, on something in the distance only she could see, it turned neither left nor right.

"Rogue …?" asked Storm.

The teenager paused, debating a response, then she twisted her neck to stare directly into Storm's deep blue, kind eyes. "Evil exists," she said. "Don't let anyone ever tell you other." Then ignoring everyone again, she continued on her private journey.

* * *

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"You have nothing to illuminate your staunch, concise position Rogue?" inquired Jean.

"No."

"Are you three?" asked Storm sternly.

"No."

"Don't you want to see Bobby?" pleaded Kitty. "I miss the school, my friends."

Rogue's immobile face did jiggle some at that thrust. "Frodo wants us to go with him, Storm said he asked Gandalf that. He will need help … against Mordor … against stinking goblins … soulless orcs … and Black Riders." Rogue's voice got darker, huskier as she spoke.

"This isn't our world," responded Storm.

"We've helped already," added Jean. "More than anyone could rightly have expected strangers to have."

"You should go with Galdor, Storm," Rogue stated bleakly. "You might have a chance to kill more of them that way, than if you went with Frodo."

"Jesus, Rogue, listen to yourself," Kitty accused.

"We already established that we stay together, regardless. We're X-men. We're family," Storm emphasized.

"Do you think Frodo and Sam would want you to accompany them the way you're acting right now?" asked Jean. "You're a little frightening."

Rogue's face betrayed enough to show she seriously considered Jean's point. "Boromir. Boromir will take me. Gondor needs any weapon it can get." She held up her hands. "These are weapons."

"Aaugh!" screamed Kitty in frustration at her friend.


	16. Chapter 16 - First Goodbyes

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 16 – First Goodbyes**

A group of elves, dwarves, and hobbits were gathered, somewhat tightly for the number of participants and the amount of space available, in Elrond's study. The rain threatening in the cloudy, overcast weather of the previous day had materialized, eliminating the possibilities of a more pleasant outdoor council.

"The hobbits' plan reveals their low cunning and keen minds for deception," announced the Master of Rivendell. "Well done Bilbo. Well done Merry."

Bilbo responded to the praise with a broad grin. Merry used an elbow to nudge the ankle casted, ear bandaged Pippin sitting next to him.

"The two of you will join with Galdor's party and make your way towards the Havens with him," continued Elrond.

"Have the ladies provided an answer yet whether they will accompany Galdor part or all of the way?" asked Frodo in a quiet voice.

"No," answered the elf from the Havens. "I believe they are meeting now to discuss which path to tread."

"From what I've gathered," interjected Gandalf, "the youthful Rogue's sudden change in disposition may make settling on a course of action difficult." Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and several of the elves all nodded their heads in various degrees of understanding at the alteration to, transformation of, the lady in question.

"We may safely wait the two days till your departure to see what they choose. A few extra horses and scouts will make small difference," Elrond said. "Though I have a few minor adjustments to hopefully improve upon these bold hobbits' ruse."

"And what might those be?" inquired the dwarf Azaghal bluntly. "Yer still adding extra knights to the travel party, yes?"

"No change to that I assure you. Amdhros and Neralad will lead the sword contingent. When Elrohir and the last of the scouts scouring the near environs of the Hithaeglir for any more nomadic bands of _urqui_ returns, I will send them south to keep an eye on the Numenorean Road south of Tharbad. The Rangers will be keeping a watch to the north of the Greyflood."

Gandalf chuckled and spoke up, "We wouldn't want you to march into any unexpected surprises before you could get close to Isengard, eh Azaghal."

"Nae. Marching in winter will be unpleasant enough."

"I will also be sending along gold with Bilbo and Merry," said Elrond.

"They shall want for nothing from Cirdan in the Havens, surely?" responded a perplexed Galdor.

"The treasure is for before you reach Cirdan," Elrond stated.

"Uhm, why Master Elrond," asked Bilbo.

"Short is the time allotted to us to enthuse, organize, and march a strong dwarven host to the aid of the West. Sharp weapons, strong arms, and stout hearts the dwarves of Ered Luin will have in plenty, but an army marches on its feet and on its stomach. Assistance they may well need in those particular matters." Many present nodded in agreement at the sage commentary. "I have heard murmurings that this hobbit or that hobbit yearns for a role in this coming, most dire moment of the Age. Well Middle Earth requires _all_ hobbits to pull their sturdy weight, the entire Shire in fact."

"How?" asked Merry, improbable pictures of his Buckland neighbors arming for battle quickly passed through his mind.

"As the breadbox and warehouse for the dwarves of Ered Luin," Elrond answered. "My gold will be spent by you Master Brandybuck, and other trusted agents, to purchase and stage food and gear for the dwelf banners which will choose to march south."

"Aye. Makes sense," declared the smart merchant. "We'll likely muster just to the east of the Havens, and take the road through the White Downs and on past Michel Delving. Then we'd take the branch from there to the southeast heading from the West Farthing to the South Farthing and the Brandywine, which we'll pass over at Sarn Ford and from there on to the Greenway."

"Well that goes right past Tookland. It ain't anywhere near Merry's Buckland," let out a puzzled Pippin.

"You are correct Peregrin Took of Tookland," said Elrond a touch ominously. "I mentioned 'other trusted agents', didn't I?"

"No, no, no, you can't," he squealed. "I'm going with Frodo and Sam. Hobbits stick together."

A gentle, strong hand came to rest on Pippin's shoulder. "Pippin," came Gandalf's soft voice. "After Bilbo creates a ruckus in the Shire, he must continue on to the Sea. Merry won't be able to do this alone. He'll need your aid. There is more than one way for Hobbits to stick together."

"Oh this is unfair!"

"Not saying you want to miss being in the thick of the wonders of my amazing return from the dead to the Shire, are you Pippin me boy?" chortled Bilbo.

"No," was the limit to the unfairly used Took's sullen response.

* * *

"Jean, lifting boulders has become tiresome. Have you ever levitated a person?" asked Gandalf.

"Sure."

"Excellent!" he responded enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together. "How far?"

"About a hundred feet, wobbly ride though."

"A daring passenger."

"Not really," interjected Storm. "He has an adamantium laced skeleton and near instantaneous regenerative powers."

"Ah, the Wolverine. The girls have told me about _him_." The wizard noted minor disquiet quickly run across both ladies' faces. "Does my resemblance to this Magneto of yours still disturb you?" he asked solicitously.

"No. Not usually," answered Jean. "Your voice is eerily similar too, and the way you drawled 'Wolverine', it brought back … memories."

"The girls have informed me that Elrond also has a doppleganger from your world, an actor in one of your moving picture entertainments."

Storm snorted. "I wouldn't exactly call them twins. Still, our being _here_ certainly validates the multi-verse theory some of my world's scientists propose, and many of our story tellers write about. And we do share a common language, though you recognized no similarity in Middle Earth to Swahili or Arabic."

"So are you suggesting we shouldn't necessarily be surprised at the occasional parallel cropping up?" asked Jean.

"No, I suppose not."

Gandalf chuckled, "I am amused to imagine an alternate Frodo heroically navigating the busy, machine filled streets in one of your complicated cities or a slightly different Boromir as a soldier in one of your advanced armies."

"We wouldn't complain should we ever get a chance to experience your musings," sighed Storm. The mutant's frustration leaked through in her tone.

"Still obstinate I take it?" asked Gandalf delicately.

"Rogue," grumbled Storm.

"Considering her abilities, quite an overwhelming experience she's suffered," he offered in kindly defense of the teenager.

"No one's saying it was easy or fun," Jean barked at the wizard.

"No, no. Of course not, I meant no implication. Your concern for your young charge's safety is beyond reproach. Elrond is mortified that a band of orcs was able to approach so close to Rivendell unawares."

"Yes, he reassured us we have earned the right to his hospitality as long as we desire," said Storm. "But that doesn't help us get Rogue back to her normal self any quicker."

"The after affects of her power usually fades fairly promptly, unfortunately it doesn't appear to be the case with these goblin creatures. Hopefully in a week or two, her outlook will change for the better" sighed a somewhat placated, but still frustrated Jean.

"And the party heading West leaves tomorrow, a pity, I know you would choose to search for a way home." Gandalf tapped the side of his head with a finger and asked of Jean, "Has she asked you for help?"

"No. But I've peaked inside her head some. She's clinically sane by my world's definitions, though a lot more compartmented than before. Without her permission I won't dig further. What do you see?"

"Me?" inquired Gandalf, raising his eyebrows in innocent surprise at the question.

(_spare me your innocent act_)

"Well …," the wizard slowly admitted, "she is certainly more focused. Stray thoughts no longer drip out of her like a leaky bucket. Almost as tight a mind as Aragorn now."

"And is he the gold standard for those of us not blessed to be born an elf?" questioned Storm a bit snidely.

"Or as secure as your own my dear," the wizard replied with a charming smile.

"Flatterer. What of your more … magical means? How does her 'aura' appear to you and Elrond and the other elves?"

"Oh, very interesting that. When I first saw her by the stream, a dark tone swirled throughout most of it. Still an overall aura of light, mind you, so fear not, though once I heard the story of the fight, I was frankly surprised it hadn't turned blacker. But by the time we returned to Rivendell, it was already clear to me that this darkness was starting to concentrate into only a few small, concentrated nodes and would not taint the whole."

"Like she partitioned them into boxes in her mind," whispered Jean. "A natural defense mechanism to keep her sanity and the remnants of those things under control."

"Knowing orcs as I do, I wouldn't want one running around inside my own head," stated the wizard. "They are nasty, vile, and hate themselves near as much as they hate everything and everyone on Middle Earth."

"Is it any wonder then that all she seems interested in is killing them?" whispered Storm rhetorically.

"She shan't act prettily should she ever tap into one of those places. Now enough chitchat, this morning is for practice. Jean, pick Storm up."

"Hey, why not you?" protested Storm.

"If she drops one of us, at least you have a chance to fly!"

* * *

Bilbo, Merry, and Pippin's last dinner in the Feasting Hall consisted of two parts cheer, one part sadness, and a pinch of grumbling. The grumbling came solely from Pippin expressing his frustration at being cheated and tricked by Elrond into assisting Bilbo and Merry's scheme. The sadness dealt entirely with good friends knowing they would not see each other again for a very long time, if ever. The cheer was Merry and Bilbo's for departure the next morning promised they would soon see the Shire, which Bilbo until only a few days ago hadn't realized how sorely he'd missed. All felt happy knowing tangible plans were moving forward to confound the Enemy and provide a modicum of assistance to the daunting journey facing Frodo and Sam. As the meal broke up, so the next morn's travelers could make an early night of it, Bilbo got Frodo to accompany him to his room.

"I see you haven't packed much Bilbo."

"Oh Elrond says the room is mine should I ever return to his Homely House. Packing my books and letters in such a short time seemed too much a chore. So I leave them to you, my boy. Once you come back from _that_ place, retrieve them at your leisure. You will undoubtedly have plenty of tales to add to my book, the most important parts of it after all. Why, you could write your own book."

"Don't talk such drivel Bilbo, you'll come back to Rivendell."

"I don't know my fine lad. Time in Rivendell is different than other places. Seasons change and I hardly notice a day's passed, but still, time stretches me. I can't deny the age I feel in my bones."

"You don't even look a hundred."

"I am one hundred and twenty eight years old as you well know. I may yet pass the Old Took, but for now all that matters is I still have the strength to make, with more than a hairy foot or two of assistance, this last journey to help you Frodo, my heir, son of my heart."

Frodo's eye's misted up at the sentiment.

"Now as my heir, all this will be yours at some point, whether I come back for it or not, so don't fret." With that the elder hobbit stood up from his chair, knelt down, and rooted underneath his bed to pull out a wooden box. Lifting the lid, he reached in and pulled out a small sword in a shabby leather scabbard.

"You got a nice blade from those ladies," he declared. "Try not to lose sight of them by the way. But this," and he drew the well polished weapon to glitter in the candle light, "is Sting." Bilbo paused in his speech to slowly cut the blade through the air, remembering its use against spiders and other dangers. "She did very well for me when I was with Thorin. Very well. She's elvish made and glows blue when orcs are about. Take her," and he handed Sting over to Frodo, "she'll be useful, I fear, for where you're going."

Frodo smiled at Bilbo's generosity.

"There's another thing too," the older hobbit announced, pulling out a bundle of wound up cloth. He tossed the surprisingly heavy package to Frodo. "Open it."

Frodo did so, revealing a small shirt of mail armor, studded with white gems and secured by a belt of pearl and crystal. The rings were close woven of a metal harder than steel, but that shown like polished silver.

"Pretty, isn't it?" said Bilbo. "Just the right size for a hobbit, you'll hardly feel any weight when you put it on."

Frodo lifted it up and down, feeling the weight and seeing light sparkle of it. "I'm not sure …"

"This was the mail Thorin gifted me in Erebor. It's mithril. We never told anyone about it. It's the one metal dwarves covet more than any other. You could wear it under your clothes like I did, unseen by prying eyes. Come, come, take it. I fancy it would turn even the strongest blade from Mordor."

"Very well," sighed Frodo and he let Bilbo put it on him.

"There, just another plain hobbit. Now give me a hug and off with you, we leave early tomorrow."

"Bilbo, I .. I can't thank you for all your kindness."

"Enough," croaked Bilbo, tearing up. "Pippin has it right, we hobbits stick together. Come home safe lad," and Bilbo grabbed Frodo in a tight embrace.

"I'll try," whispered Frodo. "I'll try."

* * *

The weather dawned with an inauspicious drizzle to accompany the fifty riders departing Rivendell. The entire household of the Last Homely House seemed to have poured forth to wish fond, and occasionally sad, goodbyes.

Aragorn lifted Bilbo up into the lone cart escorting the group, it carrying Elrond's gold and supplies for the trip. "I'm sorry Dunadan I did not get a chance to see the 'sword that is broken' whole again, though from what I saw yesterday, old Thol and the artist from Lorien are doing a smashing job in the smithy."

"I will miss your poetry Bilbo," replied Aragorn.

"Too kind, too kind. Keep my boy safe, and yourself too of course," he chuckled.

* * *

Pippin still wearing a cast on his bum ankle, tugged on Jean's sleeve. "A little help again, if you don't mind Jean."

The red headed mutant smiled at the impish hobbit, "Not a problem."

The Took felt a gentle pressure and then up he slowly floated into the same cart as Bilbo. Jean then stepped next to him and gave him a squeeze.

"Much obliged Jean, for everything."

"You've been a wonder to us, we won't forget you."

"Me neither, and … if you can, please, please don't forget Frodo, I'm frightfully scared for him."

* * *

"Say goodbye to Rogue for me Kitty," said Merry.

"I will, I will. Sorry she didn't feel well enough to …"

"No need to explain. Please tell her something for me."

"Certainly."

"Though I can't understand what's happened, none of us ever stopped loving her. Can you tell her that?"

"I will. Gladly."

"Thank you. We love you too, you know."

Kitty laughed, "I should hope so my brave, smart hobbit."

Merry struggled some but made it into the saddle of the small horse arranged for his use on the Road. "Look, I'm improved enough maybe I could go with Frodo after all."

"Don't stretch your luck."

"Yeah, but he'll be stretching his, won't he?" came Merry's quick, rhetorical reply.

Kitty could only nod her head in sad agreement to the truth of the question's non-question.

* * *

Galdor's stallion maneuvered adroitly through the gathered crowd and brought him to a rest in front of Storm.

"Ororo," the noble elf said, and he had never before used her proper name. "Getting to know you these past two weeks has been one of the most enjoyable experiences I've had in the last thousand years."

Storm laughed, "Though I can't possibly match that statement, it has been more than a pleasure having you as a mentor and a friend in our short time together."

Galdor held out a hand toward her and Storm reciprocated by laying one of hers in his.

"Though I wished we could have sailed to sea together, such, alas, is not our path. But remember, the wind blows in many directions, we may still meet again. Goodbye." And with that he leaned forward and kissed the back of Storm's hand.

Feeling warmth grow in her cheeks and elsewhere, she squeezed his hand before withdrawing hers. "Goodbye Galdor, goodbye."

* * *

Frodo and Gandalf, upon finishing walking through the crowd together to say their joint goodbyes, returned to stand next to Elrond.

"Are you satisfied, Frodo?" asked the Master of the Last Homely House.

"Satisfied? Yes. Happy? No, not really."

"True words, true words," echoed Gandalf.

"Very well then," declared Elrond. "Lord Galdor, Master Azaghal, dear Bilbo, brave Amdhros, my friends," he stated in a voice loud enough to be heard over the din of everyone gathered. "You have a long journey ahead of you. Travel safely. Your missions will take you into danger. Perform your duties bravely. Go with my blessings. I bid you goodbye."

Within seconds, any chaos still present in the gathered travelers seemingly ironed itself out and a distinctive column emerged and slowly started to move. Beautiful, harmonious voices singing in Sindarin began to fill the air. The drizzle over Rivendell ended. By the time the end of the column passed out of sight down the trail to the Bruinen Ford, sunlight broke through the clouds overhead. Frodo, taking one last look to the sky before going inside, saw a rainbow.


	17. Chapter 17 - Reunions

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 17 – Reunions**

"Thank you Lady Katherine for having the courage to invite me to spar again," said Boromir with stiff, polite formality.

"And thanks for giving us a second chance," Kitty replied, doing her best to sound cheerful. "Besides, I'm not practicing today," and she pointed to the bulge showing through her pants around her thigh, "this poke I got from the orcs is still too tender. So I'm just going to watch."

Boromir grunted in response. But whether it was to acknowledge Kitty's comments, or to express his displeasure at all things orc-ish, or simply because he lacked anything graceful to say, Kitty cared not. She walked to the side of the garden, while the large man from Gondor unslung a large shield from his back and went to join the surprisingly large group gathered for that morning's weapons play.

"Instead of our usual one on ones, we shall stage a mock battle today," declared Aragorn. "The mission will be to get Frodo from the statue of Earendil in the West safely to the statue of Elwing to the East. Boromir, would you accompany Frodo and Sam?"

"Gladly."

"Rogue," you join them too.

"Fine," came her terse answer.

"I will be on the attacking side. Think of me as a Cave Troll. Gimli will be with me as an …"

"Don't call me an orc," the dwarf fiercely interjected.

" .. an another attacker. And Legolas shall be a third attacker."

"What's the world coming to, a dwarf and an elf on the same side," grumbled Gimli.

"I fought at the Battle of the Five Armies, our races were allied that day," Legolas replied cheerfully to the dwarf's sullen mutterings.

"Aye, but you started the morning on the wrong side, didn't ya!" Gimli loudly harrumphed.

"Rogue appears very tired," announced Elrond, who had come unawares upon Kitty as she watched her friends from the edge of the green space. "Her entire body slumps and the eyes are puffy with dark circles around them."

"Oh, Master Elrond, I didn't see you. Yes, uhm, she didn't sleep well last night."

"More nightmares?"

Kitty nodded, not wanting to say anything about her hurting friend.

"There are four of us and three of them. We win if Frodo makes the other statue," said Boromir.

"Yes, Mr. Boromir. But on the whole, begging your pardon, they're better than we are," said Sam.

"You, Rogue, and myself only need to engage them long enough for Frodo to scoot free, and I have my shield."

"So we use you as a battering ram?" suggested Rogue.

"Exactly. I shall charge for whichever one is in the center of the line they make. Hopefully it will be the Ranger. Frodo, stay right on my heels till I give a shout, then you sprint away. Sam, try to hold up the dwarf, his shorter reach gives you more of a chance to delay him.

"I'll take the pretty one, then," announced Rogue with a sense of deadly satisfaction.

* * *

Elrond peered through the open doors of the near empty Feasting Hall at the training partners taking a break to review each other's battle skills and to unwittingly reinforce their camaraderie.

"You're strong as granite, Master Gimli. Can I get you more ale?"

The dwarf gazed appraisingly up at Boromir. "It's not quite lunch time, so you better only bring me two tankards."

"Frodo, I know Legolas was close, but you shouldn't have stopped to help Sam. That gave us time to capture you. In Mordor, capture wouldn't get you an early tea."

"But according to the plan, you were supposed to be in the middle Aragorn, and take the brunt of Boromir's shield."

"Plans seldom survive the enemy's contribution to them. Heed a plan's goal, don't be a slave to its every part," advised the Ranger.

"Cheer up Sam, you nicked him," enthused Kitty.

"But then he clobbered me and tripped up poor Mr. Frodo," said Sam despondently.

"Nobody expects you to be a master sword fighter. In fact they'll expect you to be a horrible one. Legolas did, so use that to sucker 'em."

"You fight with speed and near reckless abandon. Effective maybe in a quick fight. How is your stamina for a longer battle?" asked Legolas.

"Oh, it can improve," answered Rogue dryly, very, very dryly.

* * *

"Aragorn was correct, of course, they were the Black Ankles," said Elrohir to his father. "We found their new warren. It is no more."

"How long?" worried Elrond.

"A few months at most, not enough work to suggest a longer infestation. Still, I burn with shame not to have detected them when they first crept within the impression of Rivendell."

"Any other _urquis_?"

"An old spore or two from other bands hunting beyond their normal ranges, but none for ten leagues."

"Good. Will you and the other nine be ready to leave tomorrow for the crossing of the Gwathlo?"

"Yes. Shall we actively attract Curunir's attention or merely scout?"

"Do not seek it, for he might then wonder as to your motives and become suspicious of the illusion we wish to build for him. However, when you can place yourselves where his spies can subtly detect you, do so, but without endangerment to yourselfs."

"And if this causes a strong force to march from Isengard to meet the dwarves on the road in Enedwaith?"

Elrond shrugged his shoulders, "Then Azaghal would be proven correct, 'We are dwarves ... Life is always hard.'"

* * *

Merry reined his small horse to a stop at the end of the bridge over the Mitheithel and gazed at the upslope before him, which parts of the party heading for the Havens were already ascending. He unconsciously rubbed at the angry red scar hidden under his shirt as he thought back on that horrible fight not quite a month ago. He smiled remembering with awe the amazing display of light and lightning that Glorfindel and Storm had thrown at the Black Riders. Then he shuddered reliving the fear as one of those terrible creatures marched inexorably towards him.

"Hey, Merry, get a move on ya wool gathering hobbit!" shouted Pippin from the cart. "You're blocking the rest of us. We're only three days out, no time to slow down yet!"

Merry nudged his mount to the side and let those travelers pooling up behind him continue on. As the cart passed him, Bilbo leaned down and asked solicitously, "You alright lad?"

Merry gathered himself and mustered a grim smile. "I will be Bilbo, I will be."

* * *

"How's the leg this morning," asked Jean.

"Pretty good. It's not even stiff anymore," said Kitty

"Good enough to start practicing with your sword again?" inquired Storm.

"Sure."

"Prove it. Jump up and down on it."

"Right here? In front of a room full of elves?"

"Embarrassed?" asked Rogue. "Well screw'em. I want a chance to thump you today, so get hopping."

"Oooo … k," came Kitty's drawn out, sullen teenage response. And she stood up and proceeded to hop up and down on her injured leg seven or eight times.

"Marvellous," cooed Gandalf, who came to join them at their usual corner of the Feasting Hall. "The resilience of youth, but I'm afraid your making a spectacle hasn't ended quite yet my dear child." The wizard then proceeded to upend a few things on the table in front of Kitty.

Rogue turned to Sam sitting next to her and with an affected accent whispered, "I wish he'd lay of the 'dear boy,' 'poor lad,' 'good chap' crap." Sam simply shrugged his shoulders not wanting to say anything negative about his friend, the great wizard.

"So many things to oversee, not enough time in the day to check up on them. It came to my attention that in your fight a week ago, that you used your power Kitty to phase both Frodo and Sam from getting run through by spears. However, according to Frodo, not everything on his body went 'poof.' I'd like to recreate that if you don't mind? Kitty? Frodo?"

Frodo gulped and his hand clutched at his shirt under which the Ring rested. "Ok," he squeaked, standing up and moving next to Frodo.

"Concentrate as hard as you can before you turn your ability on," whispered Jean.

Kitty rolled her eyes at the adult advice, paused, reached out to hold Frodo's hand, and paused again. "Now," she said. Ting. The sound of the Ring striking the stone floor and rolling away was surprisingly loud. In a flash, Frodo snatched his hand away from Kitty and scurried under tables and around chairs to retrieve Isildur's Bane.

"Now try this," said Gandalf, holding a small vial toward Kitty. "This holds Miruvor, a potent restorative draught."

Kitty took hold and phased. No liquid spilled to the ground.

Gandalf picked a crystal off the table and held it out. "This jewel captures light during the day and slowly releases it when exposed to darkness."

Kitty accepted it and phased. The gem stayed phased.

"Sam, if you please, your blade retrieved from the Barrow mound." Sam stood, pulled it from its sheath, and handed it to Kitty. "This was made with Numenoran magic, the magic of man."

Kitty phased. She swiped the Barrow blade entirely through the dining table without leaving a scratch. She unphased and carefully handed the weapon back to Sam. "Next!"

Storm chuckled, "The cocky certainness of youth. Don't forget Kitty, you started with a failure."

"Now my sword," announced Gandalf. "This is Glamdring."

Kitty picked it up with two hands, shaking it slightly to feel its heft. Kitty phased, but a slightly pained or annoyed expression came over her face. Then Kitty unphased.

"Why the funny look," asked Rogue.

"It phased, but, well, I don't think it wanted to," answered Kitty.

"Interesting," cooed Gandalf, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "Very interesting. Master Gimli, would you care to join this experiment?"

"I have nothing of magic upon me," declared the dwarf.

"No, you haven't. I wanted the fair Kitty to phase you."

"Me!" spluttered the dwarf. "Turned inside out to no longer feel the work of Aule under my feet?"

"Be a man, err, a dwarf," Rogue egged on. "Show us your stout heart."

"Kitty hasn't ever lost anyone," reassured Storm.

"Yet," laughed Rogue.

Challenged by the laughs and giggles, Gimli declared, "She may try, but she will not succeed."

Kitty layed her hand on Gimli's shoulder and phased. Another curious look crossed her face.

"I feel not a wit different," declared the dwarf. Allowing her a hand to stay alit on his great coat, he turned to face Kitty and half came out of his clothes to the amazement of those gathered around. At their gasps, Gimli roared, "What?!" and strode fully out of Kitty's grasp and strode fully stark naked out of his clothes.

"Incredible!" howled Gandalf.

Finally realizing his predicament, Gimli dove under the table, shouting, "My clothes! My clothes!"

Whatever connection that had kept the dwarf's boots, socks, pants, belt, shirt, and sundry trinkets phased broke when Gimli's naked body had stepped out of them. Their solidity returned and they promptly fluttered to the floor. His coat, still in Kitty's grasp, stayed phased until she turned her ability off.

In the ensuing hubbub and commotion, Rogue's voice rose above the rest. "Where's Legolas!?"

* * *

Rogue wandered down the dark, rocky tunnel. Enough phosphorescent light glowed off the lichens and mosses sporadically growing on the rough walls and tumbled down rocks to provide the bare light needed to see where to put her feet. She came upon the entrance of a smaller side tunnel, she paused and peered down it stygian depths. Nothing, not even a dim glow. She continued on, encountering more and more off shoots from the main channel.

A low chittering sound behind her passed just into audible range. Rogue increased her pace. Her foot stepped on something awkward and felt it crack under her weight. She picked it up, staring hard in the gloom to decipher the long mysterious item. She rotated it, feeling nicks along something stick length with a nobby end. Ewww, a humerus bone. She dropped it quickly and resumed walking.

Another side tunnel, but with a chittering sound coming from it, came into murky view. Again she stopped and peered into near darkness. Tiny points of light slightly bobbed up and down fifty or more feet away. Were they moving closer at all? What are they? Eyes? 'They're eyes,' her mind gulped. She started a near sprint down the tunnel, difficult in the dim light. She ran into small boulders, abrading knees and shins. A shoulder smacked into a protruding rock, spinning her around. Soon she tripped, turning an ankle. Staring up from the pebble and sand strewn bottom of the tunnel her eyes noted a sharp curve up ahead on which a brighter light coming from beyond the curve reflected off the wall, revealing more and more bones on the route ahead of her.

"Enough of this shit," she whispered. "I'm an X-man." Turning aside her fear at the hum of chittering and sets of eyes following behind her, she stood tall and wiped the dust of her leather uniform. Rogue walked strongly, proudly to the turn and took it to find herself at the entrance of a torch lit cavern. A hunched, hooded figure sat on a throne, thrusting a meaty bone to where its maw must be.

The figure stopped munching. "Took you long enough," came a familiar voice. "Step closer," and the thing waved its meal at her with a come hither gesture.

Icicles ran up and down her as she stepped more fully in the light. The temperature easily dropped twenty degrees and Rogue saw a path of bones leading straight to the creature's throne, a throne of skulls.

"Whooo are you?" Rogue asked in a voice she wished sounded stronger.

"You know who I am. You know who all of us are," and the hooded creature gestured behind Rogue. The mutant turned and saw a dozen orcs slink in from the tunnel.

Rogue quickly shucked her gloves. "If you come any closer, I swear, I'll kill you."

The thing laughed and threw back its hood revealing … herself. "Too late Anna Marie, you've already killed us. All of us."

"No, no, no. I'm alive!" Rogue shrieked hysterically, trying to deny the nightmarish reality confronting her.

"Are you really? Now where are my manners?" asked counter Rogue with evil mirth and began rummaging along the side of her grotesque perch. "Ah, here we are. You must be hungry after your trip through the looking glass. Have a snack," she uttered, flinging something orb shaped and hairy at her twin.

Rogue's hands automatically reached to snatch the object before it could hit her. It felt icy cold in her grasp. Without her own volition, the object turned and she looked down at it. Bobby Drake's empty, maggot filled eye sockets stared up at her. Diabolically gleeful cackling beat drum like through her head.

* * *

"Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!"

* * *

'Shit! Rogue! Not again,' Jean thought, sitting bolt upright in bed. The teenager's mental cries of distress had again broken through Jean's shielding to awaken her. Getting out of bed, she threw on a dressing gown, and ran out of her room to Rogue's. The suffering girl was writhing in her bed, screaming.

"Rogue! Rogue! Anna Marie!" shouted Jean. "You're awake, you're awake. Try to calm down. You're safe. No one is trying to hurt you."

Her mind told her by their presence, or in most cases, lack of presence, that Gandalf and several elves had gathered in the door way, watching. Not wanting of course to touch her friend, Jean extended a telekinetic hand and started to gently shake Rogue. "Wake up Anna, wake up. You had a dream."

A harsh, guttural, "Get out!" vomited maliciously from the teen's mouth. Jean's telepathy sensed a new harmonic spreading across her brain patterns.

Jean felt a gentle touch on her shields.

(_the black nodes in her aura are merging. darkness is starting to tinge the whole._)

(_thank you. can you stop it?_)

(_mind speech. simple coercion of will for a short time. these i am capable of. that is beyond me or any else here. you hold her hope._)

(_watch me. call for me if i become lost._)

Jean steadied her nerves and began to think of herself as a swift, darting bird. Then she flung the mental projection of herself at Rogue's recently shield protected mind. The shields were strong, but incomplete with occasional gaps that Jean had used before to briefly peer inside her friend to check on her. However this effort would require more of Jean's psyche to enter and she did not want to break her friend's mind by tearing a large hole through which to enter. Jean flew around and around, judging cracks and nooks in the shields. With each revolution the red haired mutant compacted more and more of her psyche into the forms of smaller and smaller birds, for an entire bird, a whole avian version of herself, with all its knowledge and tools gleamed through the years from the Professor, would be necessary to safely reverse the threatened possession of Rogue's mind.

Jean decided she'd waited long enough. There! Now! A humming bird darted down at a gap in Rogue's mental armor. A wing scrapped against a sharp, jagged edge of a shield that curled itself to strike out at the winged intruder. A feather tore off the bird and as it started to drift and float in the astral vastness of Rogue's mind, it burst into flames, then disappeared into embers and finally nothingness.

Gandalf heard Jean give a soft grunt. Then he saw an inches long second degree burn erupt and boil forth on one of the red haired mutant's arms. With his mind's eye he saw a bird flying here and there within Rogue's twisted thought paths. Beak and claws snipping at bundles of multi-colored light here and there. Sometime a cut was made and coil of dark sparkling light died. Other places the bird grabbed dull, gray lifeless lines and tugged them till they merged with other, vibrant colored light, resuscitating them back to purpose.

The bird felt satisfied that the alien rewiring of her friend's unconscious mind was complete. When she ruptured the emerging duality, the split personality would no longer have refuges to slink off to and lay dormant to hide from Rogue's active mind, her true ego/id/superego. Wings beat rapidly and the form aimed itself for the core of her friend's consciousness, her selfhood, her sentience. The bird found itself in a grim cavern. One form of Rogue lay catatonic on the rock and boulder strewn floor. Another stood upon an image of a throne of skulls, ranting at the bird, "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

The bird reached a beak toward the throne, the anti-Rogue lashed out. The beak retreated, then faked another tentative move, provoking another overenthusiastic response from the threatened duality, the evil twin. Crash! A wing whipped fast as thought and tipped the throne image over, sending the hate filled Rogue tumbling down. The beak jerked out, lashing a strong hold on the nasty creation in the teen's mind. "No!" it screamed. "We aren't finished!" The beak squeezed. "This isn't over!" Pop! The duality exploded.

The bird blinked its eyes in surprise. The catatonic Rogue had not awakened. Emerging from the ruins of the anti-Rogue were nearly twenty tick like creatures. The bird hawked and spat a fragment of fire, a tick flew across the cavern. With that, the things started swarming over her, biting at her with their mandibles. The bird shrieked in distress. This only allowed a tick to climb into the birds mouth and snip at its tongue. The beak snapped down in response, crushing that assailant.

Jean moaned. Her eye lids fluttered. More burns and some small cuts started breaking out across her body. "Is there anything to be done Mithrandir?" asked Elrond. Gandalf shook his head no.

The bird thrust its beak again and again to tear at the ticks assaulting it. The remnants of the alien orc consciousnesses absorbed by Rogue refused to die easily. For every one she crunched into nothingness, she received two or three injuries. She shook a wing to dislodge a bloated tick that had latched on and tried to feed off of her.

((_unleash me_. (**image of a fiery bird spewing hellfire and crushing the ticks in its powerful, razor sharp talons**)))

(_no! such power would destroy Rogue._)

((_you will die._))

(_i command._)

((_for now._))

The small bird's wings were in tatters and an eye battered shut. The good eye gazed fiercely at a sole surviving tick. The two opponents warily circled each other around a rubble strewn cavern, both exhausted, and only strong enough to make feeble feints.

(_rogue awaken!_)

The bird and the tick jerked around to see where the unseen cry came from.

(_rogue awaken!_)

(_gandalf!_)

The recumbent form of Rogue stirred and opened an eye. The tick ambled toward it, pinchered maw opening. Rogue's arms shot out, grabbing a hold of the tick's skull and gave a mighty tug.

"Get ... out ... of ... my ... head!"

Pop!

(_you are you again rogue._)

"Thank you Jean! Thank you with all my heart."

(_i must leave now._)

The roof of the cavern faded away, revealing a blue sky above. With a tremendous effort, the injured bird launched itself into the air, tattered wings beating hard, flying higher and higher.

Jean shuddered and started to slip off the side of Rogue's bed. Gandalf caught her before she could tumble. The red haired mutant's eyes blinked open. "She's safe now," Jean whispered. "Thanks for helping. I couldn't have finished it without you."

"Well done, little bird. Well done." The wizard whispered proudly back to her. "Rest easy."

* * *

The first couple of scouts returned a little after two weeks since first setting out from Rivendell. The news they brought they shared with Elrond, Gandalf, and Aragorn. As more and more scouts returned, Aragorn and Gandalf took to regularly walking together in the afternoons to discuss the possible paths Frodo and Sam might take, as well as the particular perils each path would threaten the hobbits with. Sometimes the two would visit the library and pour over maps and scrolls. Frequently Frodo and Storm would join them. Frodo seemed content to rely on their guidance. Storm often asked penetrating questions and cajoled Frodo to try and memorize the maps, informing him the time might come where he had only himself to rely upon navigating his way across Mordor.

* * *

The entire crew of the Rivendell smithy stood at the primary forge, shifting in anticipation, behind Master Thol and Mistress Galduin as Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen, Mithrandir, and Aragorn crossed into the building as the red and orange rays of sunset pierced through the wide entry way. Upon an enormous anvil rested a sword with a steel and brass inlaid handle attached to a blade sheathed within a pearl and narwhale studded black leather scabbard.

"Master, glad tidings, you grace us with your presence," said Thol.

"Peace upon your house, Lord of Imladris," said Galduin.

"We have received your summons, the 'Sword That Was Broken' has been reforged a new, an auspicious moment, none more so than for the Heir of Elendil. Come forth Son of Arathorn and receive again part of your birthright."

Stepping forward, Aragorn's fingers, in passing, brushed the hand of Arwen closest to him. In four strides he came to the well used steel block on which rested the remerged parts of the great Narsil. He traced a finger done its length.

"Go ahead, it shan't bite you," whispered Thol, causing the Chief of the Dunedain to smile.

A strong, heavily callused hand gripped the middle of the scabbard and the other equally strong and scarred hand alit on the handle. With an easy tug, the entire blade slid free, catching the descending sunlight, turning the shiny blade a glowing crimson. Many an "oh" or "ah" escaped the lips of the elven audience who had each participated in some large or small manner in recreating the masterpiece ablaze before them. One side of the blade held an etching of the White Tree of Gondor flourishing under a rayed Sun. The opposite side revealed seven stars over a crescent Moon. Many runes, some in Sindarin, some in Westernesse, and a few even in Khuzdul in memory of the dwarf Telchar, who first forged Narsil, lay upon it too.

Setting the scabbard down, Aragorn with a feather touch tested a callus against the hard, keen edge and drew a nicked finger back. Along with the dot of blood that developed, the Ranger felt a hungry sensation deep in his soul.

"Master Thol, Lady Galduin, fair crafters and artisans of Rivendell, you honor me with your great labor. War comes from the East. The Dark Lord of Mordor exerts his might against the last strength of elves and free men. With Anduril," and Aragorn lifted the blade to reflect the last glimmer of dusk's sunlight, "for such I rename this blade, at my side, I shall strive to march the righteous pathways of Elendil. And our foemen shall suffer pain and woe for their vile folly."

The Smithy shook with cheers and loud appreciation for Aragorn's courage and undaunted spirit.


	18. Chapter 18 - Preparations and Departures

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 18 – Preparations and Departures**

Galdor gazed from his tall horse down at Merry astride his smaller one. "Neralad will accompany your travels throughout the Shire buying grains, potatoes, and the other supplies. The Dunedain may not be able to keep out all the Dark Lord's spies and assassins."

Merry gulped, "Appreciate it Lord Galdor. Neralad's a valiant fellow, I'm sure he'll keep the both of us safe."

"Remember, your work is an important part of our endeavors. Do it well. My path will not return me through your lands, so let me thank you now for all you will do." Galdor from his saddle bowed toward the hobbit. That accomplished, he spurred his horse in the direction of the Brandywine Bridge.

"Work hard, Merry," said Azaghal from an equally small horse. "The dwarves of the Ered Luin will be hungry in three months. I shall see you at Waymoot!" Off he went at a slow trot.

A now more mobile Pippin, also riding on a small horse, and the cart carrying Bilbo came to a stop at the joining of the Buckland Road to the East-West Road.

"I shall miss you lad, you've always been a boon companion of my boy Frodo. I cannot give enough thanks for all you've done."

"Ahh, Bilbo, you're just sugarcoating me cause you know how disappointed I am to not be there to see your dramatic return to Hobbiton. Those Sackville-Bagginses' heads might explode at the sight of you," Merry chuckled. "Farewell Bilbo, till we meet again."

"Keep well." At Bilbo's nod, the driver of the cart got it moving again toward the heart of the Shire.

"Don't drink too much in Hobbiton, Pippin. I want you to remember everything so you can tell me all about it."

"I will, I will," said Pippin good naturedly. "In three weeks then? In Bywater?"

"Yes. Let us compare our efforts then and get a handle on what needs doing next. Lots and lots I expect."

"Agreed. Say hi to your family at Brandy Hall for me," said Pippin. He then turned to address the mighty elven warrior on a charger near them. "And take care of this troublesome hobbit for us Neralad. Don't let too many holes get poked in him." The elf smiled in return.

"Take care Pippin."

"Take care Merry."

The two hobbits leaned forward enough in their saddles to shake hands. Pippin turned his mount and headed toward the Brandywine Bridge. Merry, Neralad, and a third horse carrying some of Elrond's treasure turned south and began trotting into Buckland.

* * *

Despite the cold, damp, dreary late November weather, word of 'The Return' had spread across the Shire like wildfire. Once a league past the Brandywine, whenever Bilbo and his company of elves came upon a roadside Inn, a cross roads, or a hamlet on the Road, a gathering of hobbits stood waiting to see the long lost legend. Bilbo played his role well, even if the wind made him shiver when he stood up in his cart to greet the crowds. "I'm off to the Havens with my elf friends to see the Sea, tra-la, tra-la," he would often shout. The first three times failed to elicit much of a response beyond an increase in murmuring by the assembled Shire folk, till Galdor struck on the idea to have an ever refilled small leather pouch of coins on the cart bench next to Bilbo. The next group of hobbits gave Bilbo many a 'hip-hip-hooray' to the pronouncement of his destination as they were sprinkled with copper pieces and the occasional silver one. _This_ was the largesse folks remembered, or at least had grown so in their collective minds over the years, hearing stories of the mysterious, far travelling, disappeared Bilbo Baggins, friend of dwarves, elves, and wizards, and former resident of the palatial Bag End in Hobbiton.

Reaching the villages of Whitfurrows and Frogmorton, the crowds were so large that slowing the cart down or making the briefest of stops was an insufficient spectacle. Barrels of ale and beer were procured from the local establishments and distributed freely. Bilbo hopped down from his perch to mingle with Bolgers and Proudfoots ('no, no,' Bilbo thought to himself, '_Proudfeet_!'), with Chubbs and Grubbs, with Bracegirdles and Hornblowers. After each of these festivities, limited to no more than three hours of active Bilbo participation in both instances, the cavalcade remounted to resume the westward expedition. Both times an alcohol warmed Bilbo remarked to his driver on how his hand throbbed from pumping so many exuberant hobbit mitts.

Noon on the twentieth of November brought Bilbo's party to the Three Farthing Stone. Excitement, yearning, and disappointment coursed through the elderly hobbit as he neared his long departed, but never forgotten home of Bag End.

"Galdor!" Bilbo shouted and waved. "Galdor!"

The leader of the mission hearing the call trotted his horse over to the cart.

"Yes, Bilbo?" the elf inquired.

"I thank you for your offer this morning, but I think stopping at Bywater shall be enough. Diverting up to Hobbiton I fear would be more of a strain than my poor old heart could handle."

A look of understanding came upon Galdor's face. "Then so it shall be. As our journey testifies to, some things once left behind, are best left to others."

Bilbo nodded his head and spoke, "Fairly said, fairly said."

Later, when the party came within a mile of Bywater, small groups of hobbits, already heading to the village at the rumor of 'The Return', started being passed on the Road. They gave deep throated cheers as Bilbo's cart passed them. More groups and even solo hobbits could be seen trickling in over the countryside and harvested fields in the direction of Bywater. By the time the cart stopped at the halfway point between the Green Dragon and the Ivy Bush, near a thousand folk over ran the Road and all the lanes and pathways of the village.

"Bilbo!" Pippin shouted. "Give a speech before they start tearing us apart!"

Nodding, Bilbo stood on the bench of the cart and began gesturing with his hands at the crowd to settle down. When a modicum of quiet was achieved, Bilbo started a speech he'd been working over in his head for the last three weeks.

"My dear People! My very dear friends of the Shire! When I left seventeen years ago, I never imagined I should return here, to the home of my heart. Nevertheless, life moves one's feet where it may and here I am, back amongst you joyous lot once again. Hoorah!"

And Bilbo's 'hoorah' was immediately matched and surpassed by a deafening "Hoorah!" shouted out by all on the streets. The hollering of which prompted tears to appear in the corners of the aging hobbit's eyes.

"I hope, I truly hope, you all have enjoyed yourselves since last you may have gazed upon me. Time eventually catches up to every hobbit, and as you can see, I'm not as spry as I once was. I must now hitch my ample bottom to a cart where once I walked proudly on two horny feet, but I've still plenty of Baggins' pluck in spirit!"

A pronouncement that garnered another round of cheers for Bilbo.

"Many of you may tell tales to your younkers of how old Bilbo made friends with dwarves and wizards, hiked over mountains that reached high as the clouds, and even pulled the tail of a dragon. But my story is not done quite yet. I shan't be staying in the Shire I am sorry to say. I am only passing through. Happily passing through I do declare. And when you get home tonight, tell your younkers of how you saw old Bilbo Baggins on his way to the Sea with Elves, and that he intends to set sail with them to see where the sun sets in the West."

This announcement drew out grunts and exclamations of surprise, rather than cheers. After all, old Bilbo had always been an odd sort of hobbit and this desire to cross anything larger than The Water right next to Bywater seemed daft to most.

"But before I proceed on, there is nothing I'd rather do than bend elbows with my former neighbors and always friends. So to aid in this intrepid endeavor, I proclaim that from now until nightfall, all drinks at the Ivy Bush and at the Green Dragon are on ME!"

Rolls of cheers erupted and many rousing choruses of 'For he's a jolly good fellow' poured forth for minutes from those not already speeding over to imbibe of the day's now free refreshments. At this display, Bilbo gave up all attempts at containing himself and openly wept with joy and sadness.

* * *

"You haven't changed your mind?" asked Storm.

Jean shook her head no. "If those things over run Middle Earth, everything good dies. Everything!"

"Are you sure none of those orc brain waves didn't leap from Rogue's mind into yours?"

"Hey! That's not fair," cried Kitty. "Jean risked her life to save Rogue. We all saw the externalized psychic wounds she got fighting those things inside Rogue. It took more than a day before they healed. Psychosomatic injury representations, my ass! She could have died. They both could have died!"

Jean smiled kindly at Kitty, then turned back to Storm, "The three of us, in our own ways, have encountered orcs. You haven't yet, so please take our word for it, those creatures are _nasty_! "

"I do, Jean, I do," Storm said soberly.

"And there are like millions of 'em," interjected Kitty.

"The only moral choice," continued Jean, "if we in fact believe Middle Earth is real and our new friends sentient beings, is to assist Frodo in his quest. If you went back in time to World War Two, would you try your utmost to stop Hitler and the Nazis or would you try first to get back? Cause for Middle Earth, World War Two is coming, and anyone who doesn't bow down to this Sauron is heading straight to the gas chambers."

"Debate point noted. Rogue, I don't suppose there's any point asking if you've changed your mind?"

"Screw'em. Death's too good for the little shits! Here's some more perspective for you, think back to the Bridge or to Bree. The Dark Riders were scary as hell and had the firepower to back it up. Those are the bastards in charge of the orcs!"

"Ewww," cried Kitty. "One went through me at Bree. Yuck. It felt disgusting. Sooo waaayyy worse than when Johnny Rodgers put his hand on my boob at the eighth grade dance."

Storm rolled her eyes. "And you are leaning toward their side too, I take it Kitty?"

"Well, I mean, geez. I miss everybody back at the school horribly. I want nothing more than to get back home. I cry every day, but I think Jean hit the nail on the head. Besides, Frodo and Sam and Aragorn, they're my friends now too. We can't leave them hanging can we? I mean, we're the good guys, right?"

Storm's guilty feelings on that issue left her with an ineloquent response of "Err, uhh, hmmmnn" to Kitty's question.

"Ya know," continued Kitty. "The last couple of days I haven't been able to get a quote from last semester's Lit class out of my head, 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done.'"

"Great!" exploded Storm, releasing some of her own inner turmoil. "The fine education provided by the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters is now turned on its head to rationalize a death wish. I read Dickens to, and this is how that quote ends, Kitty, 'it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.' If you all want to play at Sydney Carton, then Mordor's the guillotine you'd be sticking your necks into. Think about that!"

* * *

"If you asked, for Frodo, I think they would go," said Gandalf.

"My heart is against their going. They are not of Arda. There is much to doubt," said Elrond.

"Such as?"

"_Narwilinien_" the elf whispered.

"What have you forseen?"

"Very little, "Elrond intoned bitterly. "The Shadow encroaches. It is not to Rivendell yet, but it creeps along the feet of the Hithaeglir and approaches the banks of the Gwathlo. I cannot see through the darkness it casts. Once the flame crosses under the Shadow, will it remain within its vessel, contained like a lantern, useful? Or will it fly amok, burning unchecked wherever it flits? I have no counsel for this mystery."

"Perhaps, it would be best to trust in their friendship with the Ring-bearer. They've proven protective of each other and their friends. It takes no great seer to discern that."

"Wisdom is not mine alone," said Elrond. "I will consider your words."

"The last of the scouts has returned, do not take long. Frodo must leave soon."

* * *

The happy, alcohol warmed hobbits of Waymoot were slowly dispersing to return to their homes or to more deeply burrow themselves into their seats at the local purveyors of fine spirits and barley brews. A few of the elves who had brought out musical instruments to add flair to the event were packing their flutes, harps, and lutes back into the bags and carrying cases on their mounts. The young Took accompanying Bilbo through 'The Return' to the Shire felt his own normally high flying spirits begin to dip as he the burden of responsibility started to creep fully on to his shoulders.

"You'll do fine Pippin," said Bilbo.

"Thank yee for saying so Bilbo," Pippin responded glumly.

"Stop worrying, you've got a whole clan of Tooks down in Tuckborough to help and a sniff of Elrond's gold won't go amiss either when push comes to shove."

"I know, I know."

"Don't hesitate to ask Amdhros for advice either. He's more than just a stern warrior, he's got a solid noggin for thinkin' too."

"Oh all right. I suppose things shall look up once I'm wading full in and doing stuff instead of just thinking about doing stuff."

"Exactly. So plaster a grin on your phiz. I'd hate my last sight of you in the Shire to be a despondent, droop faced one."

Pippin gave a great sniffle and wiped something out of one eye. Then, with an exaggerated smile, he said, "To have found you again Bilbo and gotten to travel a grand journey among elves with the hero of my childhood, well, I shall miss you more than you'll ever know."

Pippin leaned from his saddle to over his hand, which Bilbo gladly shook, in addition to using the other hand to ruffle the hair atop Pippin's head.

"I'm proud of you lad. Now be off."

Pippin turned the head of his small horse and trodded south out of the cross roads of Waymoot, bound first for Tookbank, then over some hills to Tuckborough. The mighty Amdhros detached himself from a few last companions and trotted off after his ward.

Minutes later, as the traveling party departed the village, Galdor rode up next to the cart to check on Bilbo.

"He's a young'un to have so much laid on him," declared Bilbo.

A perplexed look came across the several thousand year old elf's face. "I've thought much the same of you Bilbo," he responded.

"Really? Then why do I feel so blasted old and tired?"

* * *

With Rivendell depleted of a significant portion of its regular residents, the Hall of Fire was not as crowded as Sam's first visit to it. Bilbo had been right, Sam thought, 'time does move different here with the elves.' Even so, he had felt tension building throughout the Last Homely House during the past week as more and more scouts returned to whisper what they'd discovered to Elrond, Gandalf, and Aragorn. The time was coming when they would leave, so he was not the least surprised when the Elf Lord summoned him and Frodo to the fireplace.

"The time is nigh. Frodo, will you still honor your word to carry the burden of the Ring to far off, dark Mordor?"

"Yes," whispered Frodo.

"You will be far from aid and the journey a perilous one. What force the West still possesses will be aimed to distract the Enemy, not to act as sword and shield for you. There is no shame to admit that this path is over much for you," said Elrond kindly

"No," declared Frodo in a louder voice. "I will go," and the brave hobbit turned to look at Sam.

"Me too," piped up Sam. "Mr. Frodo shan't go alone."

Elrond smiled at Sam's loyalty. "No, neither of you will be alone, at least not for the entirety of your travels. A Company for the Ring-bearer I will choose tonight for you, to assist with the speed and secrecy of the paths to be taken. They shall encompass the races resisting the dread reach of Mordor: men, dwarves, and elves. First, Gandalf, he shall lend his wisdom and knowledge. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir, too shall travel south. Along with him will be Boromir, valiant Captain of Gondor. Their destiny may ultimately take them to the shining walls of Minas Tirith, but for many hundreds of miles your roads shall lay intertwined."

Frodo and Sam both smiled at these announcements, bobbing their heads with pleasure at the three chosen so far."

"Gimli, son of Gloin, the former companion of Bilbo, shall represent the dwarves. Dwarves were a part of the rediscovery of the Ring. It is only fitting one take part in its destruction."

Gimli, dressed in his usual mail armor, beamed in satisfaction at the trust afforded him.

"Legolas, a Prince of the Forrest of Mirkwood, shall take part for the elves and lend the lore of his wood-wise ways to your endeavors. That makes for a Company of Seven."

"Thank you," said Frodo, both relieved and anxious. "I am sure … "

"Hold a moment Frodo, if you please, I have yet to finish," interrupted Elrond. "I originally envisioned a Company of Nine to match against the Nine Morgul Riders, but unexpected blows have already struck at the Enemy," the Master of Rivendell said as he inclined his head in the direction of the four mutant ladies. "and we know not if Nine is now their real number, rendering my simple symbolism suspect at best, or perhaps even unwise."

A low murmur started in the hall at the implication of Elrond's words. He continued. "Wisdom is not mine alone. Nor is wisdom limited only to elven kind. It is folly to believe other. Frodo, you are the Ring-bearer. Are there others you would deem wise to ask to accompany you?"

"Oh," Frodo gasped and a happy smile came to his face. "Yes, I think so."

"Yours is the journey, the peril, so please ask who would wish to be the last members of your Fellowship, to share a portion of this heavy burden with you."

Frodo immediately looked at his four lady friends. He had heard more than enough hints in the past seven days to know they were torn as to what course they should take next. He remembered how pained he felt the day Pippin, Merry, and Bilbo had departed. He did not want to damage the women's friendships with each other or break them apart, so following his heart, he knew who he had to ask first, and possibly last.

"Storm, would you come with me?"

Storm pursed her lips and stared steadily back at her small friend. Many thoughts leapt through her brain, even though she'd long known this moment would likely occur. Storm smiled. 'Never underestimate a hobbit, particularly that one,' she thought. 'He's not forcing me by asking me last. Will he even ask the others if I say no? Hhhmmnn, probably not. I think I love him more for it.'

"Ahem," Storm cleared her throat. "In coming to Rivendell I have journeyed further than I ever dared dreamed. I only desire to return to my home," she said quite calmly.

Frodo's face drooped at her words.

"But for love. Yes, for love. I shall come with you Frodo."

"Hurrahhh!" shouted Sam.

"I think there are three others who would also liked to be asked your question," said Storm through a grin, though her heart beat with dread for the future.

"Would you? Would all three of you come?" blurted out Frodo.

"Yes." "Yes." "Hell yes!" came the responses from Jean, Kitty, and Rogue.

"Let it be so," sighed Elrond. "You shall go, all of you. In three days the eleven member of the Company must depart."

* * *

"What news do you have for me," drawled the Southron through the din of the Common Room of the Prancing Pony as he sat down on a bench close to a ferret faced individual.

Suspicious and weaselly by nature, as well as by appearance, Bill Ferny quickly looked about to see whether anyone was eavesdropping. The nearest person was a large, travel stained man at the next table with his head resting on it, between four empty tankards, and emitting soft snores.

"Took ye long enow ta get here," he said tensely. "I sent the blame bird off eight day ago."

A hand snaked beneath the table and firmly grabbed some of Ferny's greasy shirt. "I have responsibilities. Think you I've just Bill Ferny to keep tabs on? No, no, no. Now kindly tell me the 'gravest import' your message spoke of afore I gut you here and now," came the fierce, accented whisper.

"Alrights, alrights," came Bill's worried response. "Nine days ago a great party of elves came through Bree heading West."

"Scared bastards are always heading West, where's the news in that?"

"They were guardin tree hobbits what went wid 'em. Two of the same that came trew in October, on the same day as ya left here. And ya remember what happened tat night, donchya?"

"Interesting, I'll admit. Anything else?"

Bill Ferny's face took on a feral grin. "Oh yeah." And he began tapping a finger on the table top, only stopping after five silver pennies lay beside it.

"This had better be good. My knives are very sharp."

"The t'ird hobbit were Bilbo Bagins. The richest hobbit there ever were in the Shire, who went aventurin wid dwarves and came back a miser full of dragon hoard. He went 'puff' a while back and turns out he been livin' wid the elves in Riverdell the last ten year."

The Southerner stood. "Turns out you're not useless," he said, then left.

Bill bit each of the five pennies with his rotten teeth before putting them one at a time in the small pouch on his belt. With a self satisfied smile he too stood saying, "I reckon I ain't eider." With a last look around the room, he also departed.

The large, snoring man stopped breathing through his mouth and lifted his head off the table in order to follow the exit of Bree's resident snitch. "Oh you're useless alright Ferny," whispered Halbarad with a smirk. "But tonight you're gold."

* * *

"Another day shall see us through the White Downs," announced Galdor, spending a part of the afternoon riding near Bilbo's cart. "As large a turnout in Michel Devling as there was in Bywater I think."

"I felt bad not giving the Mayor even an inkling of what shall happen come the new year," said Bilbo.

"Will Whitfoot seemed a conscientious hobbit, but the less said about Pippin and Merry's activities, and the dwarven host, the better," reassured Galdor.

"I suppose. Rumors will start soon enough anyway once the Farmers and Bakers and Cartmakers start bumping into one another while bending an elbow and begin to gossip about the unusual autumn sales they've made to foolish young Tooks and Brandybucks carrying solid coin."

"And is there anything the Shire's Watch could do to stop it?"

"What? With Neralad or Amdhros backing em? Ha! Hardly."

"And should several thousand hungry dwarves come marching in from the Far Downs?"

Bilbo giggled, "Oh I should like to see the face of the first hobbit on the Watch when that happens."

* * *

Ten members of the Company stood in the cold, late November air of Rivendell in front of the Last Homely House as dusk began settling around the valley. Farewells had already been spoken at the just completed meal. Many friends had come outside to share a last moment of peace with them, more were just grey shadows seen peering out at them through windows. Only Gandalf lacked to make the contingent full. No mighty chargers were present to carry them to war, only a solitary pony to haul those supplies and gear not already stuffed into the backpacks each member would carry as they walked at night. For the plan, at least in the beginning, was to sleep by day and to march only under the stars to better hide from the Enemy's spying eye and deadly agents. Secrecy was their hope and stratagem for sneaking into the heart of Mordor and reaching Mount Doom.

Sam heard the murmur of low voices from the small crowd. 'No music or singing for our departure, I'll warrant,' he thought to himself. He noticed Lady Arwen whispering something into Strider's ear and him nodding fiercely in agreement. Sam reviewed his mental checklist for a third time of what he'd packed and what he'd possibly forgotten. 'Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, oh drat!' "Rope! I've forgotten rope. Kitty, did you pack any rope?"

"Uhm, no. Should I have?"

"Agghh."

"Worry not, Sam," came Legolas' low, calm voice. "I carry fifty feet of it. Slender, but strong."

"Phew. Never know when that might come in handy."

At those words, Elrond and Gandalf stepped outside and called the Company together.

"I have no counsel left to give. You have studied such maps as Rivendell has to offer. The words of the scouts have been shared among you. Put them to good use. You will be far from aid, yet some aid might still find you. I have sent messages to such friends of mine that still reside in Middle Earth. Perhaps some good will come of that for you. Remember, no oath binds you to this Quest. Each of you must go as far as the strength of your own heart allows. May the blessings of all Free Folks follow your every step. Farewell!"

Those not already wearing their packs shouldered them. Boromir took the lead of the pony. Then the Fellowship followed the path away from the Last Homely House toward the Ford of Bruinen, as a curve took them from their final view of the safe haven in Rivendell, each took a last glimpse back before striding purposefully into the gathering night.


	19. Chapter 19 - 2nd and 3rd 1st Impressions

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 19 – Second and Third First Impressions**

"Bet you wish you still had Shadowfax to ride instead of having to lump along like the rest of us," said Frodo.

"A hobbit? An insulated creature of the Shire dares hint that Gandalf the Grey fears the burden of 'lumping along'? Tish I say, Tish," scoffed the wizard.

"I think what Mr. Frodo means is if you still had Shadowfax _he_ could ride on him with you," interjected Sam with a wry grin.

"What Frodo?" carried Aragorn's voice from beneath the tangled thorn bush he rested, adding on to the teasing of his hobbit friend. "Didn't our training put any spring in your step? And now only a day out from Rivendell you're crying for a steed?"

"No, that isn't it at all. I got to know Shadowfax rather well on the trip from Bree. So I only brought him up, really, because I missed saying goodbye when Gandalf freed him." said Frodo defending himself a tad huffily.

"Oh, one can never _free_ a thing no one could ever own," declared Gandalf. "Shadowfax is a steed fit for the Elder Days. I may have befriended him enough that he tolerated letting me, and you too, later on Frodo, to sit astride him. But his spirit is too strong to be broken to the will of anyone. T'was sad a week ago when I bade my friend goodbye and told him to cross back over the Bruinen."

"His speed would have drawn the eye of even the Dark Lord's dullest spy," said Legolas.

"And there is only one of him to the eleven of us," declared Boromir from his day light shelter amongst the brush of a ravine. "The Riders of Rohan breed mighty steeds, I have seen them, but _that_ one is special, no doubt."

"Will we see him again, I wonder?" asked Frodo.

"I told him to go and graze back at his home pastures, but come the first thaw of the new year to keep an eye out along the Entwash, just in case," said Gandalf.

"So that's where we're going?" asked Kitty. "The Entwash? Where's that Storm?"

"Time enough later on Fanadilthien to discuss where we might be if this happens or that occurs," said Gandalf. "A long march lays before us, for now try to think of only what's right before us."

"Great," muttered Rogue, "again with another unintelligible elven nickname. Spsst, Legolas. What does 'Fana' whatever mean?"

* * *

As they left their meager camp at dusk to begin a second night's march, Aragorn led the way, with Gandalf and Boromir close behind. Gimli followed as a dwarf's ability to see in the dark might prove useful. He was followed by Sam, then Kitty, and Frodo. Rogue trudged in front of Jean and Storm, with Legolas and his keen elven senses bringing up the rear. Cold winds whipped down off the mountains to their east and made them thankful of the warm garments given them at Rivendell and of the heat they each generated through the continuous movement of their bodies.

After an hour's walk Storm noticed Jean rubbing her head regularly. "You ok?" she whispered.

"Hunh?"

"You keep touching your head. Is everything ok?"

"Oh? Yeah, I guess I have been."

"Headache?"

"No, not really. It started last night after we left Rivendell. My mind's picking up a heck of a lot more stuff and I'm having trouble blocking it out."

"What stuff? Our background thoughts?"

"I wish! I could deal with something that concrete. This … this is more amorphous. I guess I'd call it vibes for lack of a better definition. They're driving me a bit nuts."

"You've left the Seal of Elrond," interjected Legolas, who'd clearly overheard their whispers. "His magic has protected the valley of Rivendell for over four thousand years turning it to a haven of peace for mind, body, and soul."

"O … kay. Then what am I feeling?" asked Jean.

"The echoes of long ago memories from the trees and stones we pass. Did you not hear these things before you came to the Last Homely House?" wondered Legolas.

"Definitely not," Jean declared.

"Curious. I often forget you came from a place without the spark of magic. How sad and dreary your world must be."

Two noncommittal "hmmmnns" were the only response to his statement.

* * *

"Boromir?"

"Yes Lady Storm?"

"Do you have any deer skin?"

"Yes."

"Good. Can we have some at the next break? Both Jean and I have blisters rubbing us fierce."

"Blisters? I don't hear the children complaining."

"Hey jerk, I'm not a child," came Rogue's too loud voice.

Gandalf's "Shhhh!" floated through the night air to all the ears of the Company.

"Did you not toughen your feet walking with Aragorn?" Boromir whispered fiercely.

"We were busy, with other things. With Gandalf."

"When is your watch?"

"First light."

"Mine is mid day. I will swap watches with you in exchange for the deer skin."

"What?!"

"Shhh! And I shan't say it again," came Gandalf's grumpy voice.

"We are now brethren in war, Storm. I shall defend your life to the limit with mine own. But within such a brotherhood there are rules. Food we share equally. Everyone keeps their own weapons sharp. _Everyone_. For we protect our most precious possessions, our own life and the lives of our comrades, with them. Those laws are sacrosanct. Beyond that, all else is trifles. If one has a minor comfort another forgot to bring, tradition dictates such may be bartered."

"Okayyyyy…"

"Each of us will take an hour's watch each day. I must, therefore, place the trust of my life in your hands for that hour. It matters not which hour it is. The trust is placed. The trifle of the comfort I seek is a longer stretch of undisturbed rest this coming day. I will trade the deerskin for it. Do you accept? Yea or Nay?"

"Oh alright. Yea," Storm muttered. And then muttering even softer, but still loud enough for Boromir to hear, "Jerk."

"Woman," came back his pointed reply.

* * *

Rogue, eyes shut, wrapped in a blanket, and laying under some prickly, unknown shrub, hadn't bothered to fall asleep since she was scheduled for that day's second watch. Approaching foot scuffs told her Boromir was coming over to swap duties. She sighed, opened an eye, and peered down at her wrist watch. 'Damn!' she thought. 'Almost exactly on time. How do they all do that?' she wondered. The time according to the stop watch function she'd set earlier was one hour, one minute, and thirty four seconds since the start of the first watch.

"Rogue?" came the loud whisper.

"I hear you, I hear you."

"Good," the tall, burly man grunted.

Rogue stirred and sat up. "Damn!"

"What?"

"Uhm, Boromir? Can you give me five minutes?"

"No. It is your turn to watch. Come, do so."

"Hey you big jerk, I need five minutes."

"What for?" Boromir rumbled grumpily.

"For ladies' business. Ladies' monthly business."

"Oh," paused Boromir. "Ahem, well … I shall go wait then." Boromir quietly withdrew a dozen yards and squatted down, his back turned to the bush under which Rogue had rested. "Women," he quietly muttered in disgruntlement to himself.

* * *

"Shouldn't you take more than two guards?" rumbled Azaghal. "You are carrying gold after all. No telling what a Firebeard would do for that."

"Only enough to whet appetites," replied Galdor. "The real treasure comes for those that join up. Besides, I thought Broadbeams were more susceptible to that sort of shiny inducement."

Azaghal refused to be provoked by such obvious teasing. "Well we'd only try to cheat you out of it fair and square. A Firebeard would just as soon lop your head off for it than think about the consequences."

"I still don't like it that you shan't be there to present the grand plan to Cirdan," worried Bilbo.

"Fear not Bilbo, everyone in the party knows the plan. When you all arrive Cirdan shall receive you graciously and listen with keen ears."

"I've never met him you know. Unlike you, who comes to Rivendell so frequently, word is he hasn't visited Elrond in a hundred years."

"He knows of you though. Hardly an elf who's passed through the Grey Havens in the last fifty years did not know the story of the hobbit who helped the dwarves return to Erebor. Only a fool would not be willing to take counsel with the renowned Bilbo Baggins. And Cirdan the Shipwright is no fool."

With an effort, Bilbo beat down his inner doubts. "Travel safe then Galdor. I've grown quite fond of you. Bring back lots of delf lords to speak at the big shindig on the first of the new year."

"Thank you Bilbo. I eagerly await the resumption of our conversations." Galdor turned to look at the dwarf merchant. "Azaghal," he said, which earned him a tipped cap from the Broadbeam.

As the Elf from the Havens rode away toward the southern Ered Luin, one of his two guards asked, "Where to first, Lord?"

"Tumnogoth laur," came his answer on the wind as their horses burst into a rapid trot.

* * *

When the barge carrying Bilbo, Azaghal, and five and forty elves arrived on the north bank of the Lhun the day before, they had been met by an escort led by an elf named Maethil, who greeted them in the name of Cirdan. Particular warmth was extended to the hobbit and the dwarf, though in reality the Grey Haven's envoy spent most of his time in deep discussions with the remaining senior elves of the party from Rivendell. The lands of Lindon were well managed, peaceful, and much like that gentle vale to the east more temperate than expected for the time of year.

More words certainly preceded them for the next morning as they came to the gates of the small city of Forlond, Cirdan himself welcomed them and in particular graciously invited Bilbo to remain in Lindon for as long as his heart desired. A brief mid day meal in the Shipwright's elegant home, but not as homey as Elrond's, was quickly followed by discussions of a strategic nature. Cirdan, steeped in wisdom and insight, appeared unsurprised at the revelation Bilbo had found the Ring and eventually passed it on to his nephew Frodo, who by now had surely begun the dangerous trek to destroy it in the magma filled vents of Orodruin. The Elf Lord displayed delight in the deception perpetrated by Bilbo's blatant journey West to draw attention away from the hidden dagger thrust Frodo represented to the Dark Lord of Mordor. Cirdan, cautious of the liability presented by a dwarven army potentially forming so close to Lindon, gave grudging approval to that particular plan. He did agree to host a meeting of northern and southern lords of the Ered Luin, as well as to provide material support for any resulting host. The final plan, the arming of an elven fleet to stab across the waters of the south, met with a non-committal response. Cirdan admitted such an effort likely lay within the means of Lindon, and Bilbo was heartened to hear a program to increase the fleet was recently begun; however, the Shipwright deferred any immediate decision. The impact of such a course laid the very purpose of the Grey Havens at risk and time was needed to judge whether the benefits outweighed the possible cost.

Bilbo found his room grander than his cubbyhole in Rivendell, but lacking, for now, in personal touches. Those things he decided could begin to get addressed on the morrow, after Azaghal departed with Maethil to begin recruiting in the homelands of the Broadbottoms and Cirdan himself gave the old, he admitted to himself, hobbit a tour of the Forlond ship yard. His slumber that night was the longest and gentlest he had experienced in over a month. He dreamed of reciting poetry again in the Hall of Fire.

* * *

Frodo awoke. Quickly assessing the angle of the sun cutting through the branches above him, he suspected his turn to watch was nearing. He started to quietly scramble about, not wanting to disturb the sleeping forms of Sam and Kitty, for those things he judged necessary for an hour's vigilance: Sting, his cloak, a water bottle, a slice of waybread, and several stones to throw in case he wanted someone's attention without the need of speaking.

"Do not stir," came the low call from nearby.

"Legolas? Are you on watch? I thought it would be Gimli."

"Stay under cover Frodo," the elf responded in his delightfully accented Westron. "Several hawks have been soaring high on the thermals above us these last three hours. They seem to be hunting in an unusual fashion. I fear it may be us they are hunting."

"Spies?" whispered Frodo.

"Quite likely. But for whom? Mordor or Isengard?"

Frodo shivered at the mention of those two dark places. "What should I do?"

"Go back to sleep if you can. I will keep watch and warn any of the others should they too stir, till the birds fly away. A good thing I feel that Aragorn and Gandalf have kept us from marching in day light."

"Ok. Thanks Legolas." Frodo took a swig of water and lay back down. He felt it a good thing that so many wise and strong companions were aiding him. Then he started to worry about what he would do when it was down to only Sam and himself.

* * *

"What makes the Shipwright's lapdog come to my delf uninvited?" came the loud challenge in slurred Sindarin from the head seat of Tumnogoth laur's great hall.

Galdor responded to the challenge by throwing a small pouch on the floor near the speaker. "And good fellowship to you Lord Bavin," Galdor said in moderately accented Khuzdul.

"What is this?" came the suspicious response.

"Gold. I come to offer you and the axes of your delf a chance for wealth, and a chance for other things too."

"Bah! My hand can grab gold from whomever I choose, whenever I choose. What are these other things your serpent's tongue will try to seduce me and the hammers of my halls with?"

"The blood of an army of rakhas. It has been two long centuries since hammers swung by the clans of the Firebeards have crushed the bones of the ancient enemy. Do you not wonder whether your arms swing as hard and true as your fathers and grandfathers?"

Howls erupted from the throats of the warriors gathered in the hall to shout defiance at the challenge. Many feet stomped the granite floor and strong callused hands pummeled table tops to add to the cacophony. Bavin rubbed his chin through his rust colored beard. When the noise finally reduced enough for him to be heard, he spoke plainly. "Tell me more."

* * *

More than a hint of pre-dawn leaked through the cloud cover, definite rosy glows could be periodically seen to their left. The pace set by Aragorn and Gandalf gave no suggestion as to when the night's march might end. As faces started to become visible and bodies took on a semblance of more than darkened blurs, the other members of the Fellowship began exchanging inquisitive looks. When Storm turned to peer back at Legolas bringing up the rear of the group as usual, he only whispered, "We have entered Eregion, the region Man calls Hollin." At Storm's further stare, he continued, "The stones speak to me," and then he shrugged his shoulders to tell the dark skinned woman, 'believe me or not, as you wish.'

"Uhm, Gandalf? Are we stopping soon?" asked Frodo, finally releasing the question and tension building within the group that had walked only under the cover of darkness the last fortnight less one night.

"Soon? Yes, Frodo, soon," muttered the wizard, staring through the trees atop a low ridge before them.

"That was helpful," grunted Boromir, causing Rogue to chuckle while she kept placing tired foot in front of tired foot.

Coming to a sudden stop among the trees he had peered at only minutes earlier, Gandalf queried, "Soon enough?"

The party gladly stopped to view the vista which dawn revealed to the south of them, three peaks dominating the dim shapes of the Misty Mountains before them.

"What happened?" asked Kitty. "Aren't the mountains supposed to be to our left?"

"No," whispered Gimli with a sense of awe to his voice. "They begin to turn westerly when they near Khazad-dum, the Dwarrowdelf, the ancient home of my peoples, and the dream of my uncle Balin. I know the peaks of Zirak, Shathur, and Baraz before me like the back of mine own hands, though only once did I ever set eyes upon them."

"They sure are a sight," said Sam. "I like the red one best."

"I like the sunrise best," declared Jean, drinking in the light, for a rare change unfiltered by bushes, branches, and leaves.

"And I at how well we have done getting here," announced Aragorn. "Sixty leagues we have hiked from Rivendell and avoided the Enemy's spies."

"Though forget not each step has only brought us closer to danger," warned Gandalf.

"When do we cross the mountains?" asked Storm.

"Yes," piped up Gimli with urgency, and hope. "And where?"

Gandalf exchanged a quick look with Aragorn before he answered. "Nestled on the far side between the three peaks is the valley known as the Dimrill Dale, which the dwarves call Azanulbizar. It is for that which we will make by climbing the pass under the far side of the Redhorn, also called Barazinbar and Caradhras."

Gimli gasped with joy at Gandalf's pronouncement. "To be able to search for signs of Balin, to see the dark waters of Kheled-zaram, to taste the cold waters of Kibil-nala!"

"May these things warm your heart, but we will not tarry. Whatever light of bravery Balin and his tribe have brought to Moria, long have the shadows of goblins haunted her mighty halls and deep passages. We will not risk a close investigation, but continue down the Silverlode to reach a haven in the golden woods of Lorien," stated Gandalf with firmness.

"But I must find a sign of them," spluttered Gimli. "To come so close and not seek an answer to this question that has vexed Erebor for near thirty years …"

Aragorn broke in frankly, "Master Elrond said, 'No oath binds you to this Quest. Each of you must go as far as the strength of your own hearts allows.' If you wish to stay to investigate Moria, that is your choice Gimli, and none would hold it against you."

Gimli scowled. "No. I go with the Ring Bearer. Let none say a dwarf forswore a friend."

"There is fresh snow on the tops of the peaks," announced Legolas filling the silence after Gimli's declaration. "The Redhorn Gate will not openly welcome our ascent."

"There are contingencies if need be," responded Gandalf.

Aragorn looked sharply at the wizard for a moment. "We have tarried here in the light long enough. It is time we sought the safety of shelter. There was a dell a half a mile back."

Frodo groaned, "Can't we at least move forward?"

"When one brings a Ranger, I have found it best to heed his advice," stated Gandalf.

* * *

"Sorry to hear your Da's not so well Ted."

"Well I didnae come here to talk up the shine o' his feet. Da said your note talked about bizness Brandybuck, so what it be about. Strange rumors ben floatin since old Baggins passed by on his return from the grave."

"All right, I'll pull the hairs quick. Your family runs the Old Mill, so you should know which farmers had bigger than normal grain stocks this fall."

"Yeah, I suppozes I knows that. Gots plenty myself in payment for the grinding. What it to ya?"

"Brandy Hall is interested in buying as much grain as it can get."

Ted Sandyman's furtive eyes looked Merry up and down while his brain tried working out the Brandybuck's angle. "Trying to corner the market?"

"In the whole Shire? Ha! Who could pull that off? No, no. We've got some buyers down south."

"Ha to you! Hardly any bodies worth to count live to the sou'. Try again."

"No, really. Its going south. I promise." And with that Merry pushed a silver piece across the heavily scratched table that they sat at together in the Ivy Bush.

Sandyman licked his lips and looked greedily down at the shiny coin. "It's yours Ted. And one more for the names of every three farmers who ground at least ten extra barrels of oats, millets, or wheat this Fall."

Ted's hand snaked out and the silver disappeared in a flash. "Oh I can get you those names no problem. Millin tain't full done yet for the year, but I gots a dozen or so names so far. That is ifs you's the money?"

Merry held up a purse and shook it. The jingle raised Ted Sandyman's pulse something fierce.

"Tain't coppers is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"Some. But enough silver to make you happy," answered Merry.

Ted licked his lips again. "How much you gonna ask for a barrel? I got fifty of grain stored in the mill meself."

Merry scratched down the names Sandyman gave him and payed him off with three silver. He held two back till he could verify all the names in fact had the extra stock the miller claimed. Merry was glad to see Ted's unsavory back leave the Ivy Bush and go back to the Old Mill on The Water. He hadn't wanted to share a mug with that particular hobbit. He sat back and proceeded to wait with an ale in his hand. Eventually the door to the inn opened and along with the wind came in a much more particular hobbit.

"Pippin!" he shouted out in delight.

* * *

Nogur drummed the fingers of one hand on the side of his chair, contemplating the proposal just presented to him by the Elf Prince Maethil and the trader Azaghal.

"Who will rule the valley?" the Delf Lord asked.

"No one. All of us. A council. Who knows?" answered Azaghal.

"How much treasure is there?"

"As much as a grasping wizard could collect in a tower of old Numenor," replied the elf.

"And how shall it be divided?"

"Equally," said the trader.

"Equally by dwarf, by Delf, by battle honors, by the number of fallen?"

"Come to the council my Lord Cirdan will host. You shall discover all there," said Maethil.

"By the Shipmakers decree, you mean," accused Nogur.

"No, Lord Nogur. By the assembled Delf Lords, or at least by those who chose to march to war," placated Azaghal.

"And you will take more than your fair share of mithral provisioning this host, won't you."

Azaghal laughed. "I could only wish to gather that amount of coin. To my chagrin, ample provisions are being arranged, free of charge, by the Shire."

"Hahaha," roared Nogur. "The Shire! Now I know you lie. What would sleepy hobbits care or know about the world beyond their hairy feet and plump bellies."

"Cousins of Bilbo Baggins, the same who in your youth aided Thorin Oakenshield to kill Smaug and return Erebor to Durin's Folk," replied Maethil smoothly, "are gathering the victuals. Hobbits, as even an elf knows, set a fine table. And Bilbo, who will be sitting at Cirdan's side during the council in Forlond, would never let his family skimp where it comes to dwarven friends."

Nogur chewed at the parts of his beard that overhung his mouth and returned to drumming his fingers. While doing so he pondered the current depth of his treasure vault and counted the number of hot heads and troublemakers infesting his hall.

"I will attend," the Delf Lord finally announced. "But I make no guarantee that any beholden to me will march if this proves folly."

"We ask for nothing more, Lord. Arrive by the last day of the year. The council shall start with the dawn of the new year," declared Cirdan's deputy.

* * *

"Snow," stated Boromir.

Rogue looked up at the dark sky and held out a hand which caught a descending flake. "Y'up," she agreed. With that pronouncement the entire group came to an undeclared, but unanimous stop; all heads and eyes turning toward Storm.

"What?" she asked with an innocent tone of voice causing Gandalf and Jean to chuckle. "Oh alright." Storm's eyes clouded over as she extended her consciousness to feel the weather patterns above them. Two minutes later her eyes returned to their normal blue and the tension left her body along with a prolonged sigh. "A cold front is coming down from the south, hitting the somewhat warmer air we started encountering about a week ago. Rivendell will probably get a foot or two of snow. We might see an inch or two."

"And that's our midnight weather check," Kitty said her smarmiest voice. "Now back to you in the studio Lance."

"So you felt nothing untoward?" asked Boromir. "In Gondor it is said the Enemy can control the storms in the Mountains of Shadows."

"Nothing so far as I could tell," answered Storm.

"Good," replied Gandalf. "The Enemy's reach is long and he has many allies. The path ahead through the Redhorn Gate is long and treacherous even without having to contend with him."

"Let us resume the march then," declared Aragorn.

"I am glad we have this abandoned road to walk on, an inch or two of snow shouldn't slow us down much," chirped Frodo happily.

"It sure made the last two nights easier," agreed Sam.

"Did you not hear Gandalf?" said Aragorn sternly. "This road shall soon turn to a narrow path. There may well be watchers on it waiting to ambush us. Speed and the night are our only allies now."

"How cheerful," Rogue muttered under her breath as she hefted her pack on to her back.

Boromir, standing nearby, chuckled at the teen's hollow humor. "Come Fatty," the big man from Gondor said, tugging on the reins of their solitary pony. "Time to head into danger."


	20. Chapter 20 - Ascent

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 20 – Ascent**

True to Aragorn's word, the way the Fellowship took to mount the flanks of the crimson Redhorn soon turned slender, twisting, treacherous, and steep. In many places the now so called "road" was entirely wiped out by landslides. Snow continued to fall, lightly at first, but slowly increasing in intensity as the hours passed. Gandalf finally came to a halt and began scuffling at the snow beneath his feet; it was already ankle high.

"I think, Storm," the wizard announced, "Your inch or two is now already well met. Can you see an end to it in the near future?"

Storm peered up at the sky with a perplexed look on her face, then her eyes glazed white. After a minute she raised her arms and started turning a slow circle with her body. Nearing the end of her third circuit she stopped and lowered her arms; her eyes unclouded.

"It is … unnatural. An abnormal spike is developing out of the cold front. It's following along the coldest thermo levels, which sit above the summits of the mountains, and what's more, moisture is being slowly pulled out of all the nearby micro-weather patterns; east, west, and south."

"The Enemy's arm has indeed grown very long," grumbled Gimli.

"I knew I should have suggested we pick up kindling and faggots," muttered Boromir.

"I feared this," said Aragorn.

"And I too," answered Gandalf, though a small smile still rested on his face. "Storm, have you the strength to set things right?"

The mutant gave a positive nod of her head.

"And how long to do so?"

"An hour. Maybe two."

Gandalf's smile enlarged slightly. "Do not be surprised if your efforts are resisted. The natural patterns of Arda will surely assist you, but I believe you confront a great power. It wants to confound us and will not readily unleash its grip on the tempest it seeks to throw at us. Go and face this moment for as long as it takes. We will make camp here so you may rest after you triumph. I suspect you will need to."

Storm gave another small nod of her head and then sent her consciousness soaring into the atmosphere, hunting down the unnatural drafts, humidity, and dagger like projection of massed cold air she had tasted earlier. The weather mutant's first response was to fight cold with heat to reduce the threat stabbing down at them along the length of the Misty Mountains. Storm reached high into the skies over Enedwaith and the valley of the Anduin to draw energy back into the crumbling warm front to slow the push of the descending frigid temperatures.

The push back by the growing warm front pulled any extra moisture it could find with it. The cold air wedge following the path of the mountains tried to lift the reinvigorated warmth threatening its edges. The wetness in the rising warmth started to condense as it cooled from the icy temperatures at the greater heights. For a hundred miles along the Misty Mountains the existing clouds, from the High Pass down to the head waters of the Gladden, first began to darken with the additional humidity and then started to shed it with an even greater precipitation of snow than before. The instability between the two fronts became so great the inhabitants of Rivendell heard the rare occurrence of winter thunder.

After an hour, Storm noted that the snowfall around her was lessening as the cold air seeking to bury them bled off more and more energy lifting the warm air at its sides farther north of the Redhorn Gate. But Gandalf had predicted accurately, the blizzard would not end of its own accord; Storm felt powerful eddies of energy being leaked off the Jet Stream at its most southerly loop flowing above Mount Gundabad and directed toward the assaulting cold front. To counter this, for the next three hours, past dawn, Storm extended her reach further than she had ever before tried. Unseasonal winds swept through the desolate landscape of Cardolan and rattled branches in Mirkwood, as her powers manipulated the natural rhythms of sky and air to combat the Enemy. Finally satisfied, though weary to the bone, Storm returned to herself and removed her mental hand from high above Middle Earth.

The air around her was freezing and she shivered in its embrace. Her first step was faltering, but Boromir and Aragorn were there to latch on to her arms and carry her over to the temporary shelter they'd constructed between boulders. Laid down upon a warm fur lined blanket, Gandalf draped a cloak over her and offered her a sip of Miruvor. Refreshed just enough, Storm asked, "How long?"

"The snow mostly stopped two hours ago," answered Jean.

"Good. I could not stop truly stop him, his hold on the jet stream was too strong for me, so it will be very cold going over the pass." Then Storm gave a weary smile. "But I did choke all the water out of the air. Nothing left for him to make snow with for many days."

"Well done," said Gandalf kindly. "Now rest for as long as you like."

"Ok. I'll do that. Afraid Rivendell and everything north of us is getting buried under a couple feet right now."

Gandalf chuckled. "Then Elrond better stay warm in the Hall of Fire, shan't he."

* * *

Storm woke and felt icy gusts sweeping around the peaks of Redhorn, Silvertine, and Cloudyhead. The light was muted, but as she blinked she could tell it was still day time, though not the exact time until she pulled an arm out from beneath the warm blanket and saw the big hand on 'II' and the little hand near 'IX'. Almost immediately a water skin was placed in her hand.

"Oh hello Frodo. Everything ok?"

He smiled down at her recumbent form and said, "Fine, but a might chilly. It will be good to walk again and start the blood pumping."

"Storm's awake," she heard Rogue cry out. "Here Boromir, help me strike down the shelter."

"A pipsqueak of a girl giving a Captain of Gondor orders?" he teasingly responded.

"Damn straight. Now move it or your backside will feel the pain of my frozen foot."

The muffled laughter of Gimli and Sam reached Storm's ears. "Suppose I better get ... Ackkk!" she shouted as the improvised tarp above her started to jiggle and a handful of snow plopped in her face. "Oh thanks a lot!" she shouted at Rogue and Boromir.

Rogue smirked, but Boromir at least had the good graces to say, "My apologies Lady Storm."

"Kitty!" shouted Gandalf. "Go back and tell Aragorn we will be breaking camp in a bit so he needs to come back up."

"Jean? Would you go and tell Legolas that we …"

"Done," replied the red head.

"Well … thank you."

(_my pleasure._ _i would have tried with aragorn too except his mind is not nearly as receptive as legolas'_)

(_i did not think he could speak with you._)

(_well his mind is basically invisible to me. but if i have a sense of where he is he can receive what i send toward him. no such luck going the other way, i hear nothing._)

* * *

The sun had just begun to set when the reconstituted group finally caught sight of Legolas, waiting on a curve of the path beneath a sheer, soaring cliff. The elf stood at their approach and at their meeting unceremoniously announced, "There is something ahead and high above us."

"What is it?" asked Aragorn.

Legolas shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot tell."

Gandalf's eyebrows curled in surprise. "Really? I would think that what an elf's eyes may see they could describe."

Again Legolas shrugged. "I sense its presence as much as see it. Whatever it is, it is _large_."

"A Cave Troll?" suggested Gimli.

"A Dragon?" heaved out Sam.

"Nazgul?" shivered Kitty.

"Enough useless guessing," cut in Gandalf. "Let's go have a look for ourselves. Jean, please stay up front near me and see if you can sense anything."

The curve in the narrow trail was long, but when it came to an end they saw the path leave the cliff face and descend down a long slope into a wide, but shallow trench before returning to its ascent toward the Redhorn Gate.

_(((anger)))_

_(((loneliness)))_

_(((hatred)))_

_(((frustration)))_

"Oh there is something there alright. And it is not happy," whispered Jean, while mentally she shared with Gandalf her observations.

As if those quiet words were a trigger, the wind funneling around the mountain suddenly took on an eerie, maniacal quality, most resembling a hyena's laugh. Then rocks both large and small started to pelt down the cliff near them.

After a quick scurry partially back down the curve of the path, Gandalf announced, "It appears Legolas and Jean are correct. I do not believe that shower or rock to be happenstance."

"Is it a servant of the Enemy?" wondered Boromir.

"There is much evil in Middle Earth, and surprisingly not all of it is necessarily allied with him. This has the odor of one that perhaps has roamed the world longer even than Sauron."

"We have come far," stated Aragorn. "I dread to think of the alternate journey we might have to make if we were forced to turn around."

"Maybe I could run out in phased form to distract it," suggested Kitty. "There are only so many boulders it could heave at me, right?"

Gimli choked back a bark of laughter. "A valiant offer Kitty, but trust a dwarf. There is no limit to the amount of debris a mountain can offer."

"Could you shield us Jean?" asked Rogue.

"Wow. I'm not sure. It's not just a question of the mass, but also of how much acceleration a big boulder might pick up coming down. I'd hate for anybody to get smushed."

"A point shared by each us," Legolas drolly agreed.

"Well the darkness should help spoil this things aim," Sam helpfully pointed out.

"Back in Rivendell you proved to be the mistress of quite amazing amounts of weight," stated Gandalf.

Jean sucked in her breath. "Ok. If no one objects. Let's do it. Though I like the idea of Kitty going first. Any little edge will help."

"Thanks," murmured Kitty, suddenly not feeling so brave. Kitty peered at the path ahead, where it peeled away from the cliff face and then started turning downward. She nervously turned her head to look back at her companions.

"Just think of this as another Danger Room exercise," said Storm in her most reassuring voice.

"Yeah, well the Professor didn't have a 'Magic' simulation option did he? And Gandalf proved my powers are iffy where magic's involved."

"C'mon, you'll be dodging honking, big slabs of rock, not magic," barked Rogue. "Name me a single fantasy story where a boulder was magic."

In ten seconds Kitty's mind whirled through every book or story on the web she could remember. "I guess you have a point," she hesitantly stated.

"So enough with the cold feet. Get moving. Jean's got the hard part."

Kitty looked over at Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. "Guys?"

In unison the four males all gave a 'who knows' shrug.

Accepting her fate, Kitty sighed. Aligning herself with the path in front of her, the teenager closed her eyes, phased, and started walking toward the inevitable, in her opinion, avalanche.

Boromir leaned down to whisper into Rogue's ear. "You were very stern with her. Aren't you nervous at all?"

"Enough to want to pee my pants."

For a moment, all eyes stopped following Kitty's progress and turned to stare at Boromir's poor attempts to control his laughter.

* * *

Ice and remnants of snow slicked several parts of the trail where to slip off to the right would ensure a bone crushing, fatal plummet. But from the moment the passage which young Katherine Anne Pryde took forward began to angle down, her feet never actually touched the ground; in a quantum state where two things could sort of occupy the same space at the same time, she both strode upon and through the very air itself. After forty five seconds she snuck open one eye open to verify her position. Though she knew she couldn't fall, the idea that she might have unintentionally placed herself a thousand feet above the ground made her queasy enough to want to check.

"So far so good," she whispered to herself, adjusting her course slightly back to the left.

Two minutes later she had descended half way down the slope. 'Well where is this thing?' she thought. 'Can it even see me when I'm phased? Or does it have trouble seeing in the dark? Uh-oh!'

KA-SLAM! A Mini Cooper sized boulder smashed into the path right before it reached the trough at the bottom of the descent and broke into a couple of large pieces, as well as spewing many, many smaller ones shrapnel-like. Startled, mostly by the thunderclap loud explosion, Kitty almost lost her concentration on phasing.

'Think I felt a few of those pebbles,' she thought. 'Better keep going.' And like a very localized rain shower, stones both large and small started pelting down with some accuracy as the mutant woman-child stolidly, but far from solidly, kept plodding on, with, in her mind's eye, a giant bulls eye painted on her heavily cloaked back.

* * *

"She remains unharmed," said Legolas gazing through the darkness.

"Then time to get started," announced Gandalf.

_(((annoyance)))_

"Everyone hold hands and stick very, very close together," ordered Aragorn.

Rogue felt Sam's small hand immediately grasp one of hers. She turned to look up at Boromir who happened to be standing right next to her and caught him staring quite intently at her other, gloved hand. Noticing the attention, he smiled quickly and took hold of her free hand, giving it a smart squeeze.

"Forward," whispered Storm to Jean. And with the red head's first step the whole group began to move.

"How high up are you holding the shield?" asked Gandalf quietly.

"About ten feet."

_(((anger)))_

"Better make it twenty. Just in case there is some initial give from something particularly heavy."

Jean grunted agreement and adjusted accordingly. Aragorn held one of her arms and Gandalf the other, both very firmly, leading her forward in a near lift so she wouldn't have to use any bit of concentration to guess where to place a foot on the dangerous path.

_((turn back!))_

About halfway down, Legolas announced, "Kitty is leaving the trench and starting the ascent."

_((no!))_

The group of ten was almost to the bottom when whatever entity on the peak above them contested passage over Caradhras noticed their presence.

_(((surprise)))_

_(((frustration)))_

_((crush them!))_

The whirlwind of granite that began to pound around and off of Jean's shield announced they were detected. Soon, various members of the group started grunting in shock or pain.

"Jean? Can you bend your shield into an umbrella or dome shape," asked an agitated Storm. "We're getting hit by splinters, rollers, and rebounds."

"I'll try," stuttered Jean. Gandalf and Legolas caught subtle hints in the air of the telekinetic field altering its shape.

Within ten seconds the affects were apparent to all. "Good job Jean," encouraged Storm.

_((hahahahaha!))_

In the middle of the trench, Legolas shouted, "Watch out!" and Jean immediately increased her shield to the maximum strength and intensity she thought possible to manage. The next instance a fifty ton slab of rock smashed directly atop them. Jean groaned and immediately went slack in the arms of Gandalf and Aragorn. All heads shot up to see the massive crimson darkness of an immense boulder resting twenty feet … fifteen feet … seven feet … three feet above their heads.

"You don't need to hold the whole weight Jean!" shouted Gandalf. "Everyone past me! NOW!" roared the wizard. Everyone ran to obey his command. "Drop the back half of your shield! Drop the back half!"

The boulder started to slowly tip as the barely conscious mutant inexpertly fumbled with her battered shield, then after several agonizing seconds the hunk of red granite slid from above the group to settle in the trench behind them, a mere six feet from Jean.

"Phew!" whistled Sam.

"This isn't over," shouted Gandalf through a gust of wind that brought howls of rage from all over Caradhras. "Perhaps the distraction of a little counter fire will aid us? Storm, can you light up the mountain?"

_(((rage)))_

"Yes. But how can I hit what I can't see?"

"Legolas, after every strike, correct her aim."

Mutant and elf stared in each other's eyes for a moment, then both nodded in unspoken agreement. The dryness of the air rendered a significant amount of static energy for Storm to call upon. Four seconds later a lightning bolt hit three-fourths of the way up the cliff face closest to them.

Legolas staring upward promptly called "Four furlongs higher, two furlongs right."

A call answered seconds later by another electric strike. Followed by a second call and a third strike, then another pairing, and another, and another.

_(((pain)))_

"Wow," whispered Jean coming back to herself, small dots of blood seeping from her nose and the corner of her eyes.

"Is the shield still up?" asked Gandalf urgently.

"Uhm, yeah, a bit."

"Then reinforce it, and quickly. Storm is hopefully granting us a small reprieve, but we need to start moving again. Aragorn, assist me."

Once Jean was again lifted by strong arms, the group started inching forward again, stepping over and around a significant number of rocks in the trench that had been earlier aimed at Kitty.

A tremendous crack broke over the sound of the most recent thunderclap.

"Avalanche!" shouted Legolas through the deafening din. A large part of the cliff face above them had broken off and hundreds and hundreds of tons of rock started to slide down to crush them.

"Huddle together!" yelled Aragorn, who began to yank as many of his companions as he could reach down into the foot of the trench near Jean.

(_it is time little bird. come forth._)

Tired and confused, Jean began to erect as strong and compact a bubble around her friends as she could muster.

Seconds later Kitty screamed as she watched her friends be buried under a torrent of stone and death.

* * *

Groans, pain, utter darkness, dust filled half breaths, and a vise like grip grinding tighter and tighter on her brain was the limit of Jean's world.

_(steady little bird.)_

(_no,no,no. (fear)_)

(_we live, but you must throw off this rock, or we will surely die._)

(_leave me alone. (despair)_)

(_the fate of this world rests on you now little bird. _**(images of armies pouring forth from mordor's black gate, Sauron knocking aside rocks and taking the Ring from frodo's dead body, rivendell sacked by black riders)**)

(_i … want … to … go … home. (loneliness)_)

**((((why?))))**

(scooottttttt!_ (love_))

_(((((jean?)))))_

* * *

Bare feet thumped rapidly on a marble floor as a strongly built man, wearing oddly shaped glasses with unusually colored lens, clad only in boxer shorts, ran down a darkened hall and started to pound on a door.

(_enter._)

The door unlatched and spun open to reveal a bedroom, lit by a lamp near a bald headed man reclining in a chaise longue with a blanket lain over his legs, a book in one hand.

"Scott, whatever is the matter? It's very late."

"Jean!" he shouted. "I saw her Professor, and … and Storm too. Maybe Rogue? And others! It was very confusing. They were in trouble."

"A bad dream. It's been months, but we will always miss them."

The bespectacled man dropped to his knees next to the man's chair and thumped it hard with his fists, shaking his head side to side. "No, it was real. It felt too close to her mental touch, I could never, ever forget the feel of that!"

The troubled man seemed so certain.

(_will you open your mind to mine? completely?_)

"Yes," came the rushed, hopeful, certain answer.

(_then prepare._)

* * *

If Gandalf had the time or ability to shake his head in frustration, he would have, for Jean was too far gone in confusion and fear to answer rationally. It was almost like her unfortunate arrival at Rivendell, with the added benefit of being slowly crushed to death. The Istari refused to yield and continued to try to succor his friend.

((_hope_))

* * *

Time dragged, or maybe it didn't. Jean felt helpless against the crushing grind, though she tried her weak best to maintain some shred of a shield against the weight. But in her heart she knew she could not free her friends, could not free herself.

_(((success)))_

_(((glee)))_

_(((malevolent pleasure)))_

(_why?_)

_((?))_

(_why?_)

_((because there is only pain and the endless, pointless hope of your kind sickens me!))_

(_do you not love?_)

_((love? (((mockery))) who do you love?))_

(_scott! _**(image of a man)**)

_((then I will crush him too _**(image of the man evaporating to nothingness)**))

**((((no!))))**

(_no!_ _scott! (love!) forever!_)

Boulders, rocks, and rubble flung up into the sky and in an instant the night was lit brilliantly by the figure of Jean sheathed in the fiery aura of a gigantic bird. At her feet, with eyes wide in wonder and fear too, bodies untouched by any heat, lay her friends, tired and hurt, but alive. A feathered arm uncurled and from a taloned hand flew forth a ball of flame aimed toward the summit of accursed Caradhras.

_(((fear)))_

The red side of the mountain facing the angry mutant turned even more crimson as flames bathed it. As burnt embers floated back down in the night air toward Jean she searched for the force that had taunted her and threatened her lover. But whatever had been there was gone. Dead or fled to the rat hole which had born it, Jean neither knew nor cared. As the flames encompassing her body began to fade, she felt the need for one last action, and so, to the wind, in a loud, clear voice, she declared:

"Nobody … better … fuck … with me … again!"

* * *

(_no! scott! (love!) forever!_)

A universe away, Scott gasped and then went rigid as the brilliantly detailed image of a fire sheathed Jean, again surrounded by her rustic clad fellow missing X-men, a bizarrely appareled Magneto, and characters befitting a medieval circus, seized hold of his conscious mind.

The ironclad shields of Earth's most dominant telepath instantly snapped into place to avoid the back blast of the powerful connection swamping his heir's, his friend's, his child's psyche. Even shuttered, Professor Xavier's mind's eye still perceived the reflected outlines of the powerful, incomprehensible, yet hopeful, images.

"They live," he whispered. "But where?"


	21. Chapter 21 - Descent

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 21 – Descent**

The ascent finally seemed to start leveling off. Soon, the steaming breath coming out of the eleven companions' mouths and noses in the early morning light ceased being a ragged, deep staccato and turned to a lighter, regular pattern. From the snow and ice on the red hued slope above them, trickles of water sluiced down narrow channels carved deep over millennia. The channels came down to the trail a hundred yards in front of them, making a minor stream. The resulting rivulet slowly dribbled off around an upcoming corner of the trail, gravity taking the water away from the weary travelers, downhill.

"We have reached the summit of the pass," declared Aragorn.

"The gate is near," said Gimli, his voice shivering with cold and excitement.

"The Redhorn Gate has laid in ruins for centuries my friend. Do not raise your hopes for what you shall see," said the Ranger.

"And the guardroom entrance into Khazad-dum blocked by a thousand years of rubble," added Gandalf.

"Yes, yes," the dwarf muttered in acknowledgement. Regardless, he increased his pace on the path, occasionally hopping from one side of the tiny brook to the other in his progress.

"Why is Gimli all jumped up excited to see this gate? I thought 'gate' was just another term around here for mountain pass." Kitty asked Legolas.

"It was once a natural chokepoint to the pass, where some long ago Dwarf Lord of Moria decided to place an actual gate; probably to test the mettle of stripling warriors in the cold and provide punishment for guards caught lazing at true duties. For Gimli, he simply yearns to see anything of Moria. His first forbearer, Durin the Deathless, who woke in the Years of the Trees, before Eru created the Sun and the Moon, chose the caves deep beneath our feet to make his home. Until his kinsman Balin, and the company he led, came to Moria thirty years ago; no dwarf had set foot in the halls of the Dwarrowdelf for a millennium. So he doubly seeks for any sign to gladden his heart."

"Oh," replied Kitty. "OH!"

The company had marched around the corner in the trail to reveal the Redhorn Gate. The minute stream ended its short journey in a diminutive pond formed by the fallen remains of what had once been a natural stone arch: the Redhorn Gate. A stubby eight foot high tooth of red granite, standing two horse lengths from a small cliff face, was all that remained upright of the formation. Intricate bas-relief could still be seen on many of the chunks of rock sticking out of the gathered pool of water.

They climbed on the few remaining dry patches of trail and exposed rock to get past the pond, though poor Fatty the pony was only given the option of being led by reins straight through the near freezing water, to enter the gate itself. A drab of water continued through the gate and on down the trail, being joined by more and more trickles off the slope above it. Gimli paused to examine a small alcove carved out of the cliff face, but blocked only a few feet into it by a cave-in.

"My ancestors stood guard here," declared the dwarf grimly, causing Kitty and Legolas to exchange an amused, though secretive, look. Gimli harrumphed mightily at the fallen, decrepit memory of his folk, hiked up his belt, and started marching purposefully forward again. All the others followed him, except Jean, who stood craning her neck up, trying to imagine what it once might have looked like.

Creak, Whoosh, Rumble, Spin, Slam, Rumble, Flash, Groan!

"Gimli, Gimli," shouted Frodo and Sam. "Gimli!"

"What!?" replied the dwarf angrily.

"Turn around!" "Look!"

"By my mother's beard!" exclaimed the dwarf in wonder.

"Hope you don't mind," called out Jean gaily. "I can take it back down if I did anything sacrilegious."

"No, no, no, please don't," stammered out Gimli, staring back in wonder at a reconstructed gate. The arch had been remade by Jean from the largest pieces that still lay around. Small gaps existed in many places, letting sun and wind through. To achieve some sort of stability, not all the remnants with decorated sides were necessarily outward facing with their bas-reliefs. But a verifiable 'arch' had been fused into place.

"I don't think it's strong enough to last very many years … but it seemed the right thing to do."

"Thank you," declared the dwarf. "Truly, thank you."

Legolas turned to Kitty. "The stones are pleased."

Storm, standing near Gandalf, let out with, "Hmmmn, errr, well …" at her friend's actions.

"She grows quite comfortable with her powers," stated the wizard in a dry tone of voice.

An unhappy sounding "Yes" was Storm's only reply.

* * *

"Kheled-zaram. The Mirrormere!" exhaled Gimli with awe.

They had descended several thousand feet down the Dimrill Stair, passing alongside and crossing over the slowly growing stream, taking stone steps hewn by dwarves from the very crimson granite of Caradhras to descend alongside cascades, and occasionally walking through passages cut behind waterfalls. Now the Fellowship had reached a vantage point that revealed a large portion of the Dimrill Dale and the Lake cradled within the valley.

"Wow!" uttered Frodo peering to the south along the length of the lake. The white and red color of the heights around him and the Fellowship were reflected like a mirror off the dark waters still several thousand feet below.

"It's beautiful alright," agreed Sam. "But I wouldn't mind seeing at least a few trees scattered here and there to spruce it up a bit."

"Oh Master Gamgee, a forested Azanulbizar was indeed the glorious view before the War of Dwarves and Orcs."

"What happened?" asked Rogue.

"My uncles and cousins drove the vile rakhas from their strongholds along the Misty Mountains till their last host gathered inside Khazad-dum, Moria, here under Azog, curse his name for eternity."

"A mighty battle then? Down in the glen?" asked Boromir.

"Aye. The battle teetered this way and that. Thorin, just a stripling then, earned his title of Oakenshield that day. All seemed lost till at the last moment sturdy warriors of the Iron Hills, under Nain, arrived and won the battle for my kin. Azog had his vengeance though and killed Nain, but in turn was avenged by Nain's son, Dain, who is now my King, the Lord of Erebor."

"So all the fighting destroyed the trees?" asked Kitty.

"No. We needed fuel for the funeral pyres for all the dead," the dwarf replied stoically. That ceased conversation for a time as each member of the Fellowship imagined the magnitude of the dwarf's statement.

"Where is the entrance to Moria?" wondered Storm, being the one to break the silence.

"To the right, below that slope," answered Aragorn. "In two or three more waterfalls we should be able to see the remains of the Dimrill Gate. The doors were broken long ago."

"There!" shouted the dwarf, drowning out the others. "I spy Durin's Stone."

"And soon you shall get to touch it, unless you'd prefer to lollygag here," said Rogue.

"No, no, I am prepared to continue … in another minute … or three or four."

The wizard chuckled. "Good, because our journey today cannot end in the dale. Orcs most likely patrol in the night, so I want to be far down the Silverlode before dusk.

"And can we see the river from here?" wondered Jean.

"Assuredly. It starts from a spring on the far side of the Mirrormere. See where I point? Then it winds as a slender ribbon south toward the gap between those two ridges," said Gandalf.

"Oh, yes. There it is."

_((doom!))_

Jean looked around to see if anyone else had spoken.

* * *

The obelisk standing before Gimli and the rest of the Fellowship was old, very old, and worn. Runes carved three Ages earlier were so eroded by weather they could no longer be read. Behind them at the bottom of a green slope lay the shores of the Mirrormere.

"Here did the dwarf father, first of all my kind, Durin the Deathless, gaze out upon the Kheled-zaram and chose to make the first Delf of my peoples," proclaimed Gimli.

"You'd think the stinking turds would have pulled this down years and year ago," pondered Rogue.

"Complicated thought such as comprehending the importance of writing or symbolism or art … that is beyond the keen of things such as orcs," declared Legolas.

"Ha!" barked Gimli in challenge. "Many has been the elf who thought similar of dwarves."

"Perhaps about _most_, but certainly not about _all_ dwarves," was the quick rejoinder.

"Master Gandalf, I know my duty does not allow me to enter Khazad-dum in search of some sign of my kinsman Balin. But with the sun high in the noon sky, is there not time for me to at least see the Dimrill Gate? Perhaps there is some mark or clue I could espy?" pleaded the dwarf.

_((doom!))_

"Hmmmnn," Gandalf pondered, thoughtfully stroking his beard.

"And what if we are seen by guards? Surely some will sit within the shaded entrance?" interjected Aragorn. "We have already given too many signs of our presence," he warned.

"Then what is one more?" offered Legolas.

"Oh very well," Gandalf answered peevishly. "Balin was my friend e'er you were born Gimli. We shall all make the short march. But I warn you, we shan't stay long."

_((doom!))_

* * *

"There are orcs within the shadows of the Dimrill Gate," announced Legolas. "Several are pointing in our direction. See! One just stepped into the sunlight."

"We should not tarry long," declared Aragorn. "They will come out tonight to hunt us."

"Do you hear that? They are chanting something," said Frodo.

"Ghash," answered Legolas.

"What does that mean?" asked Boromir.

"Fire," replied Gandalf. "I wonder what they mean by that."

_((doom!))_

"Do you feel that?" posed Jean.

"I feel it," whispered Gimli. "The ground shakes."

"I do too," stated a frightened sounding Sam.

A far off _boom_ seemed to echo through the depths of the stone and mountain beneath them. Their feet catching the reverberating tension of whatever rhythmic energy pulsed forth among the tunnels, halls, and chasms of forlorn Moria.

"Larger orcs are gathering by the gate now," said Legolas.

Gandalf placed a hand above his eyes and peered intently into the gloomy entrance. "Black Uruk of Mordor," the wizard proclaimed.

"That bodes most ill if the Enemy is already seeding goblin dens in the Hithaeglir with his shock troops," said Boromir.

"Or he foresaw our stratagem and the likely footways of our Fellowship," worried Aragorn.

_((doom!))_

"I think our Ranger's earlier advice quite sound," stated Gandalf. "' We should not tarry here.'"

"Would I could kill even one of the vile rakhas," drawled Gimli with venom in his voice.

"Me too," replied Rogue with just as bloodthirsty a tone.

"May I offer myself as your proxy?" Legolas solicited.

The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "How so elf?" he asked suspiciously.

The Prince of Mirkwood slung his short bow from his back. "With this."

"From here? With that itty thing?" scoffed Gimli. "As if …"

"Do it!" snapped Rogue.

_((death comes.))_

Legolas smiled, notched an arrow, and brought it up to eye level. His arm moved slightly, then slightly again.

"Do it," muttered Rogue.

"Patience woman," whispered Boromir who stood by her side.

_Twang_.

The arrow arched into the air toward the Dimrill Gate.

"Distance. It will have the distance!" exclaimed Gimli excitedly, just as a gentle waft of air blew by.

"Too much wind," whispered Aragorn.

"No," declared a certain sounding Legolas.

_Thunk_. A muted "arrrkkk" spilled out on the breeze.

"Well shot! Well shot!" exploded the dwarf as he jumped up and down slapping the elf on his back in congratulations.

_((i will feed on your bones.))_

"This isn't good," stated Jean.

"Oh they will respond," chuckled Gandalf. And as if on cue, a half dozen orcs carrying bows rushed out of the gloom on to the sunlit ledge in front of the gate and fired. The nearest black colored arrow landed fifty feet in front of the group. "See? Nothing to worry about," declared the wizard. "But we really must be moving. They will be highly agitated tonight."

"No, not that," said Jean anxiously.

"A light comes toward the gate," said Legolas.

"What?" responded a startled Gandalf, turning to again place a hand above his eyes to peer back into the dark entrance of Moria. The outline of something around the size of a Cave Troll holding some sort of unusual torch slowly revealed itself through the gloom.

_((malevolence))_

_((arrogance))_

_((hunger))_

_((doom!))_

Frodo's hand subconsciously rose to rest upon the tiny lump under his cloak and shirt where the Ring lay entwined on a necklace, resting against his chest. The hobbit whimpered pitifully.

(((put on the Ring!)))

(((_put on the Ring!_)))

"Ai!" cried Legolas. "A Balrog!"

"Durin's Bane?!" shouted Gimli frantically.

"The enemy has truly prepared for us," whispered Gandalf despondently. "What a fool I am."

A terror, greater than that experienced by even those who had in their lives had the misfortune of encountering Ringwraiths, started gripping the hearts of the Fellowship. Sam and Kitty fell to their knees in fright. Storm shivered, imagining herself alone, buried deep underground. Aragorn saw himself holding Arwen, blood weeping out of a death wound across her neck. Rogue staggered in her despair, grabbing on to Boromir's sleeve to keep herself upright. The physical contact jerked the man's mind back from envisioning the sack of Minas Tirith. The Captain of Gondor gazed down to see horror frozen on the lady's proudly scarred visage.

'No,' Boromir thought. Hands shaking, he raised the white and silver Horn of Gondor to his lips and blew. "HHHAAAAARRRUUUUMMMMMMMMMM!" filled the air of the Dimrill Dale, echoing off the Mountain tops surrounding them and spilling down the course of the Celebrant toward the golden woods of Lorien. The resonance of the mighty blast gave even the spirit of the evil Maia pause. More importantly, it broke the purchase the Balrog's baleful spirit had cast over the Fellowship's brave hearts.

_((frustration))_

_((resolve))_

_((doom!))_

_((die!))_

Jean drew herself up straight, a look of pure anger raged across her face. Feathers of pyrokinetic flame started to erupt out of her, bathing her body in colors of orange, red, yellow, and white, as she shouted, " I am SO done … with the likes of YOU … SCREWING WITH MEEEEEE!"

A burning, telekinetic clawed fist the size of a semi sprang forth from Jean's extended arm to race toward the Dimrill Gate. Detecting the quick as thought coming onslaught, the creature tried to erect a magical barrier, but to no avail. The fist crashed through a half form shield with barely any loss of ferocity to plow straight into the Balrog's chest sending it flying backwards. A hundred yards it flew uncontrollably down the Dimrill Gate passageway, its two mighty wings unfurling from the speed of the unexpected flight. Back through the broken doors of the First Hall and into the sunlight, brought into Moria by the great shafts hewn into the hall's ceiling to act as windows, the ancient servant of Morgoth tumbled. Till finally the Balrog smashed into and entirely through a thick pillar supporting the roof of the First Hall. The creature wasn't dead, but could hardly move so many of its bones being snapped and smashed into ruin.

_((pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain) (pain))_

"And none of you little SHITS are going to come after ME EITHER!" screamed Jean.

As the red haired mutant raised both arms above her head, so too did two gigantic burning, telekinetic clawed fists extend several thousand feet into the air and come slamming down on the slopes of Fanuidhol, white sheathed Silverhead. The granite of the slope shattered, and an enormous roar was heard by the Fellowship below.

"Jean? What have you done?" gushed a nervous Storm.

"Payback!" Jean yelled with a mad grin through the thunder caused by thousands of tons of rock suddenly finding itself affected by gravity.

WOOOSH! CRASH! KABOOM!

"The … the … the Dimrill Gate!" shrieked Gimli through air now filled with dust and grit. "Balin!" he cried.

"Gone," said Gandalf solemnly. Then the wizard tiredly turned and started trudging away from Moria. One, by one, the members of the Fellowship took a last look at where the east gate to Khazad-dum once existed, before following Gandalf on the next step of their journey.

* * *

Through its immense pain, the Balrog heard a sound of approaching thunder. Then a rock, and another, and another, and another came slipping through the eastward facing, high placed windows to smash upon the floor of the First Hall. The dribble of incoming rubble grew to a stream and then quickly turned into a torrent. As more and more stone fell through the windows, the gaps admitting sunlight grew smaller and smaller until the windows became so choked they admitted no light at all. Eventually the debris so clogged the shafts, no more stone could funnel past. By the time the last falling rock stopped bouncing around inside the First Hall, its floor, or what now passed for a floor, stood from five to twenty feet taller than it had minutes earlier. And the form of the perverted Maia could no longer be seen.


	22. Chapter 22 - The Golden Wood

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 22 – The Golden Wood**

The road from the now buried East Gate of Moria led generally south on a descending slope. The Fellowship silently walked past the trailhead for Durin's Stone and the Dimrill Stair. The road curved around the bottom of the Mirrormere and even turned slightly to bring it within sight of the spring from which the Silverlode arose to then tumble down a narrow rocky channel, growing ever larger as it absorbed more and more mountain streams the further it ran from the arms of the dale. After a league, Gandalf finally halted and sat upon a fallen log. It took five more minutes before the last of the party, under the mournful eye of Legolas, again taking responsibility to cover the rear of the march, shuffled to a stop at the wizard's impromptu rest site.

"Long ago, many feet trafficked between the dwarven halls of Moria and the elven boughs of Lothlorien, near twenty leagues further," the wizard recited to his gathered companions. "The remains of that road, here beneath our feet, follow along the Silverlode till it nears the Nimrodel, we shall follow it."

"I doubt we have much to fear from Moria now," added Aragorn. "Nevertheless the farther we go from this dreary place, perhaps the better."

"Elves still live there, don't they?" asked Frodo in a quiet voice.

"Yes," replied Gandalf. "We shall seek a refuge with them for a time, to rejuvenate our weary minds and bodies."

"Though none from Mirkwood has journeyed there for centuries, it is renowned as the fairest wood of all my peoples," declared Legolas. "From here I can just catch a golden glimmer of the tree tops."

"My heart will be gladdened to rest there again too," intoned the Ranger.

"In Gondor," stated Boromir grimly, "we too have legends of this place. It is said to be perilous, which few who survive it come out unscathed."

"Then the lore masters of Gondor who taught you were fools," barked Gandalf. "I have no time left for fools, least of all old ones like myself." With that the wizard jerked himself upright and placing his staff before him as a support, started walking tiredly forward again.

"All are foolish," agreed Gimli bitterly, "who once had dreams. Come Frodo, come Sam, Gandalf does not deserve to walk alone." The three smallest members of the company and the only four legged member started after the figure in grey.

"Forgive Mithrandir's outburst," said Legolas. "We have undergone much these past two days and he has not slept a wink of it."

"C'mon big guy," added Rogue. "Give the wizard a break. I've at least had a nap or two and you wouldn't believe how bitchy I feel right now."

Boromir's face remained set in stone, but at the teen's words he stopped glaring after Gandalf and turned his eyes to peer down at the teasing face next to him.

"You remember Arwen, the daughter of Elrond, do you not?" asked Aragorn. At Boromir's nodding agreement, the ranger continued, "She is the granddaughter of Lorien's rulers, Celeborn and Galadriel. It was within the Golden Wood where … where I first spent much time with her. For one of good heart, to enter is to … change, and for the better. Fear not what is to be found in Lorien."

"Besides big guy, your only other option seems to be to turn around and climb back over the mountains," said Rogue mischievously.

"Very well," grumbled Boromir. "Lead on." Then turning to the foil at his side, he added, "And stop calling me 'big guy.' Or I shall have to spank you for the impudent child you are."

"Ohhh, in your dreams ... big guy."

The Fellowship slowly travelled another four leagues, till near midnight, when they dragged themselves off the trail and dared make a camp with fire in the chilly December weather of the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Few dreamed that night, and none were pleasant for those that did.

* * *

"Hide!" shouted Legolas. "Something comes!"

The party drew to a sharp stop and all head's turned to take in the countryside before and behind them.

"No! From the sky."

Luckily, their descent alongside the Silverlode has taken them from the bare grassy slopes of the Dimrill Dale to an area, while not a forest, that at least offered trees, bushes, and brush; some of it not far off the tumbled remains of the ancient road. So with trained practice, the group spread out quickly, each person seeking shelter best suited to their size and athleticism. Sam was heard to mutter, "Darn it Fatty, lay down ya nag," to which the pony replied with an indignant "neigh." Aside from that burst of sound, their disappearance from the road occurred with minimal noise.

Within two minutes, a dark dot could be spotted by non-elven eyes coming up from the southwest, heading northwest, toward Moria. In only a little longer the dark dot turned into the outline of some sort of great flying beast, beating its wings, a small dot upon its upper back or neck. As the Fellowship held its collected breath, the winged creature beat parallel to them, only about a mile off, near enough that the small dot upon its back turned into the outline of a black garbed man.

_(fly left wretch(urgency)(frustration))_

_((pain)(acceptance))_

"A Nazgul," Jean whispered to the nearby Frodo.

(((put on The Ring!)))

"I know," the slender hobbit answered with a frightened squeak.

Jean smiled reassuredly at the hobbit, then turned to look back up at the sky.

(((put on The Ring!)))

"Hmmmnn? Did you say something Frodo?"

"No," he whispered.

Five minutes later, Legolas stood up to give the 'all clear' sign.

Looking at the mid-day sun, Aragorn announced, "We've come five leagues. I'd like to make another five by dusk."

With grumbling acquiescence the party stumbled to its feet and returned to the path.

* * *

Storm's hand lashed out, its hardened edge slapping against the wolf shaped head of the beast savaging her leg, causing it to release its fang filled grip. She rolled to put her uninjured leg up and lashed out with a kick.

"Stop," hissed Boromir. His hands grabbing Storm's ankle in an iron vise, keeping the heel of her foot from breaking a nose protruding from beneath his freshly cut eyebrow.

"What?! What?!" yelled Storm, her eyes opening.

"And quiet too," urged the big man.

Calming herself, Storm said, "I'm sorry Boromir. I must have been dreaming or something."

His steely grey gaze didn't leave what little blue the moonlight illuminated of her eyes. "It happens on long patrols. My fault, I should have been more careful in waking you." He chuckled. "At least you didn't have a dagger, that's happened a couple of times to me."

"Well …" the mutant responded, pulling a small knife enough out of its boot sheath to catch a dull glimmer in the night air. "And I suppose I could have …" and she pointed with a finger up at the sky.

His chuckling continued, "I'll definitely remember that."

"So what's up?"

"The flying Nazgul has worried the better minds of our party," he drolled sarcastically. "They want us to reach the edge of Lorien by daybreak."

Storm held up her wrist to catch more moonlight. "Its midnight!"

"Yes. And another five leagues to walk according to _they that know_."

"Any breakfast?"

"Elf bread."

"Ugh."

"When I travelled to Rivendell from Minas Tirath I would have considered 'elf bread' manna. But now, I quite agree with you. Ugh."

* * *

A wide shadow loomed up in front of the Fellowship in the graying air of pre-dawn. The rustle of a million leaves shifting in the breeze reached their ears.

"Lothlorien!" cried Legolas. "We shall soon enter beneath the arched boughs of the Golden Wood, oh to see the beauty of it under the full light of day."

"Contain your enthusiasm my friend," said Gandalf with the first smile any had seen on his visage in days.

Rogue suddenly started choking when Boromir leaned over and whispered, "The elf is as excited as a virgin at a brothel. I fear for the virtue of the first sapling that strikes his fancy."

The entire Fellowship turned to examine the spluttering teenager till they finally realized she was laughing.

"What do you fine so amusing, stripling," grumbled the still despondent dwarf, the companion closest to Rogue save the Captain from Gondor.

"Boromir …" she gasped. "He said, haha, that Legolas, haha, looked like he wanted to make love to the … trees!"

Gimli's stern face, rumbled. He fought a fierce battle against his own lips, and lost, as they started to curve up into a smile. "Bwahahahahahahahahaha!" the dwarf roared, falling to the ground and beating it with his fists. "Bwwwwaaaaaaaaahahahahahaha!"

"Laugh to your misshapen heart's content, child of Durin," replied the affronted Legolas. "The beauty of Lothlorien will no doubt be lost on the likes of you," he declared and then looked for agreement from his companions, only to find them chuckling outright or at best hiding ill concealed grins. The elf gave a harrumph, gathered his cloak about him and stalked off toward the outline of trees just barely getting lit by the first gleams of the morning sun.

* * *

A little more than a mile into the ever goldening forest, the party came upon a swift flowing stream, which by its east, northeasterly direction, must soon join the Silverlode.

"We have reached the Nimrodel," Gandalf announced. "We have come far enough, for by now we are surely already observed. Stay here all of you, I shall go proclaim our intentions." With that the wizard climbed down the steep bank and waded into the cold, shallow water. First Gandalf released a pleasant sigh as the stream bathed his feet, next he stamped his staff down into the stream, before raising it high. A silver glow began to emanate from the staff and spread its light around the Fellowship and far into the woods on both sides of the Nimrodel.

In an odd dialect of Sindarin, a language which even the non-elven speakers of the Fellowship had picked up at least a smattering of in Rivendell, Gandalf declared in a clear tenor voice that carried with the wind and echoed among the trees. "I am Mithrandir, friend of the Galadhrim. My companions and I come to you in peace from Imladris, at the counsel of Elrond, son of Elwing, grandson of Nimloth, great-grandson of Galathil, great-great-grandson of Galadhon. We humbly beseech permission to walk under the Mellyrn of Lothlorien, so that we may know a respite from the evils that afflict the world and hear the wisdom of this Golden Wood's lord and lady, Celeborn the Wise and Galadriel Alatariel."

As the wizard's voice died, he lowered his staff and the glow receded till only the staff itself still faintly shined. Satisfied, Gandalf strode a few more steps to finish crossing the stream, climbed the bank and came to a rest, leaning against his staff and staring out into the mighty forest before him. "Ahhh, that didn't take long," he muttered to himself.

A grey clad elf, bow and arrow case strapped across his back came gliding ghost like out of the trees. Stopping in front of Gandalf he bowed, "I rejoice at your return to Lothlorien Mithrandir, I am Finareth," he said in that different style of Sindarin.

"Hail, Finareth. May my companions cross the Nimrodel and freely enter your wood?" he asked politely.

"All but one," came the answer.

"What?" replied Gandalf, tension gathering at his brow. "Does our pony present some unknown danger?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.

"No wise one. It is the dwarf I see among you. Since the Dark Days, they are forbidden to pass within our realm."

Gandalf ground his teeth. "This is unacceptable. He was chosen by Elrond himself for this journey, word of which was sent from Imladris to your lord and lady. I would place my very life in his trustworthy hands. You must come up with a different answer."

"Which I, unfortunately, cannot give you, though it pains me greatly to disappoint you, Mithrandir. Evil travels near our borders …"

"The very reason we must meet travel, and quickly, to Caras Galadhon for counsel …"

"Uruk from Mordor marched passed only a week ago. So we must abide, strictly, to the laws governing the protection of Lothlorien and the Galadhrim."

"And there is no compassion, or common sense, to your position?"

The elf looked thoughtful at the request. "I will allow him to cross, but then he must be blindfolded while we take you to a refuge and seek guidance for this conundrum from the city."

"Yes, we shall accept your invitation for all to cross, but none shall suffer the indignity of a blindfold. We will make camp here, and await a message of welcome," Gandalf near growled. He turned his back on the elven warden and beckoned his companions to cross the healing waters of the Nimrodel.

"Oh uh," Aragorn said loud enough for Storm to hear. "Mithrandir does not look pleased."

* * *

A new elf emerged from the golden haze of the forest, and for once, one who spoke Westron.

"I am Haldir. I bring word from the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim."

"You came from Caras Galadhon?" asked Gandalf.

The elf nodded.

"Impressive," whistled Aragorn. "It is near twenty five leagues from here. Our request went there and an answer back in a single day and a quarter."

"Yes, yes, bore me more later," cut in Gimli. "What is their answer," he rumbled dangerously, the slight of him having festered overnight in his dwarven heart.

Haldir smiled. "You may walk freely dwarf, with eyes open. The Lady Galadriel knows all of your company, including your distinguished presence in it. I will be your guide to bring all of you to her and her husband, the Lord Celeborn."

Gimli gave a satisfied nod that some proper respect was finally proffered him.

"When may we leave?" asked Gandalf.

"As soon as you desire. I am at your command."

"Well you heard him," chirped up Sam. "Let's gather our things. I'll start packing Fatty."

"Be not in such a hurry little man," said the elf.

"Hobbit," Frodo and Sam echoed in reply.

"Hobbit. I shall have many questions as we walk. But I fear the route we take will not necessarily be easy for you."

"What d'ya mean?" asked Sam suspiciously.

"Soon we must cross the fast flowing Celebrant, or Silverlode as you call it, over which there are no bridges, so as to help protect us from marauding orcs and evil beasts. It is crossed only by footing a single strand of rope stretched across it."

"We can't cross that!" shouted Frodo. "We're not elves!"

"Fear not Master Hobbit, we shall add additional ropes such that your hands may also assist you. However, I am afraid your pony must be left behind, he would never make."

"No!" yelped Sam. "We can't leave Fatty. Not after coming so far. He's like family."

"Sam, Sam," soothed Jean. "The time may come where we must say goodbye to Fatty. But now," and she grinned as she said, "is not that time. I think I can guarantee everybody a safe crossing," at which point the red head tapped the side of her head and winked.

* * *

He sniffed and tasted another hint of fresh air through the normal dust and stench of the unnaturally straight and smooth caves he had been wandering the past four months. The scary meats had uncovered a third small crevice that reached to the unpredictable surface, to friendly darkness and horrid brightness. The scary meats would probably place watchers on this one too, watchers holding pointy sticks and cruel sharp edges.

"My precious," the thing drawled. Then stopped and looked around to see if anything on two, four, or six legs had heard his dry, creaking, ancient voice. No nothing.

The spindly, boney thing debated for the thousandth time in the last three days whether he had smelled his beautiful, terrible birthday present right before the sphincter loosening movement of the mountains. Or had his mind decided to play nasty tricks on him again.

"Baggins," he croaked. "Hate." For the millionth time he thought he must leave, keep searching. "Shire," hissed out of his ragged half-toothed maw.

Then all thought slipped from his weak brain as his stomach rumbled. It had been before the mountains cried since he had last snuck up oh so quietly on a solitary scary meat and bashed its skull with a rock. Stringy, but satisfying enough flesh the thing thought as it licked its lips.

"Gollum," it croaked.

* * *

"No one fell out overnight?" inquired Sam, pushing his torso up from the floor by his elbows to peer around the flet to count those of his companions already moving and those still recumbent. "Well that's a wonder, isn't it?"

"What's that Sam?" asked Frodo sleepily.

"I was worried Mister Frodo that this porch without any railings could provide quite the painful drop down from the tree branches if one didn't sleep real careful like."

"And weren't you the brave one plunking yourself right in the middle," teased Kitty.

"I were looking for the safest spot to protect Mister Frodo," Sam declared.

"Which you then happened to share," added Rogue.

"He might o' needed somethin' in the middle of the night," retorted the hobbit defensively.

"After the meal each one of you packed away last night, I suspected the last thing any of your bellies were up for last night was rolling over," chortled Gandalf, entering the conversation.

"I was just glad to have someone either than you two pot burners make dinner," piped in Frodo to take digs back at the girls in defense of Sam.

"It did taste heavenly," said Storm.

Gimli, nervously peering over the edge of the platform, belched, then added, "T'were a satisfactory feed, cept for the insufferably sweet mead. Can't expect elves to have ale I suppose."

"Best sleep since Rivendell," proclaimed Boromir, stretching arms over his head. "Only a light ten league march yesterday and no watch to interrupt the night. It was downright …"

"Peaceful," declared Jean. "This Lorien feels much akin to Rivendell. Beautiful of course, but my whole being feels like its gently floating in a soothing, warm bath."

"Oh don't mention baths," whined Kitty. "I'd kill for one, and not just because I'm dirty and stink."

"You do, you know. In case you had any doubts."

"Thanks Rogue. Takes one to know one."

As the two teens started to bicker, egged on occasionally by Gimli, Sam, and Boromir; Gandalf crouched down beside Jean. "I was wondering when you would notice the serenity of the Golden Woods. It is part of the mark that the Lady Galadriel has lain upon Lorien to shield it from Middle Earth."

"Isn't she married to these elves' leader?"

The wizard smiled, "Celeborn is wise and mighty, mistake it not. But Galadriel, _Galadriel_ is the greatest elf remaining in Middle Earth."

"Stronger than Elrond?"

"I do not know how one would measure such, but yes, even so. It will behoove us to listen dearly to any confidences she chooses to share."

* * *

"Aragorn? Hey! Aragorn?"

"Hmmmnm?"

"Haldir says … Dude, snap out of it," barked Rogue.

"What?"

"We're almost to that Amroth place."

"Yes, I know," replied the Ranger. "I've been here before, e'er you were born child."

"Well, I don't think the paper's been published yet confirming whether the quantum signature of Middle Earth coincides within the same frequency of my own Earth, thus predicting the likelihood of chronological synchronicity. So don't be counting your chickens before they hatch. Hear what I'm saying?"

Aragorn looked at Rogue perplexedly, smiled, shook his head in wonder at the gibberish the teen had spouted, and kept walking.

"How long have you been waiting to use that line on someone?" asked Kitty.

Rogue giggled, "Like a week."

"And do you have any idea what it meant?" interjected Storm.

"Hell no, but I thought it sounded pretty good."

"Impudent chit," laughed Storm.

* * *

The Fellowship and their guide exited from beneath a canopy of trees to enter a great open space, covered in afternoon sunshine. "Behold Cerin Amroth, you are come to the heart of Lorien as it was o'er a thousand years ago," announced Haldir.

Jean goggled at the natural perfection before her. Grass green as springtime ran to the foot of a slope sprinkled with golden and white winter flowers among the greenery. The slope gave shape to a raised mound upon which grew two circles of trees surrounding a solitaire trunk, more massive than any of the others. The first band of trees were leafless, as even winter apparently had some effect in this sanctuary, but magnificent nevertheless with snowy white bark. The second band, of a greater height, still retained their golden leaves, as so much of the forest did. The last tree, the one in the middle, stretched near three hundred feet tall. Stairs circled its trunk, leading up to a brilliant white flet supported by the trees upper branches. "Wow" she whispered, every nerve ending of her body tingling with joy at the sensations of beauty and pleasure welling up within her.

Legolas, besotted by the view, almost immediately broke away from his friends to begin exploring the enchanted vista before him.

"Be gentle on the trees," Rogue called out.

Kitty laughed, then snaked out a hand to touch Sam. "Tag, you're it!" she shouted, then started running off through the grass. Sam laughing, turned to Frodo and gave him a gentle push, "You're it Mister Frodo!" Then he too bolted off, throwing arms wide open and reveling in the feel of the luxurious grass passing between his toes and beneath his hairy feet. Frodo gave Gimli a look. The dwarf puffed up his chest and declared a tad huffily, "A warrior does not play Tag." Giggling, Frodo said, "I'm very sorry for you," and with that he started chasing after his friends.

"This is a place to forget one's burdens Gimli and rejoice in life," said Aragorn kindly. "Be not afraid to do so. Few will be the moments for happiness once we depart the Golden Wood, my friend." He clapped the dwarf once on the shoulder before starting his own wanderings over Cerin Amroth.

"Sage words," advised Gandalf. "I'm for the flet. Who will go with me?"

"I will," volunteered Storm.

"Haha, no fear of heights for you. Anyone else? Boromir? Rogue? No? Ah well, come then my lady." Gandalf half bowed toward Storm and dramatically swept one arm in an invitation to start walking.

"Oh, very gallant," said Rogue.

"Yes," agreed Boromir, feeling an unusual tingling in his belly. "Ahem. Would you care to stroll with me, uh, Anna Marie?"

Rogue smiled up at the tall man, "My pleasure," and off the pair went.

Jean walked to the start of the slope and peered closely at a star shaped flower, 'Perfection,' she thought. Another flower, 'perfection.' The distance of the open green space to the start of the mound, 'perfection.' The equidistance between each tree of the first ring, 'perfection.' "This is ridiculous," Jean muttered. Her mind began to race, mental powers brought into sharp focus to spot even the slightest mar or flaw in this Eden. The health of each tree's bark, 'perfection.' Interlocking branches of the trees to provide an uninterrupted canopy, 'perfection.' Hue of color on every blossom, 'perfection.' 'This is madness,' Jean thought, reeling her powers back in. A surge of guilt started filling her. 'My imperfection stains this sacred place.'

((_mine. soon. all of it._))

"And would you care to experience Cerin Amroth closer up, master dwarf?" inquired Haldir.

"I'm fine," replied Gimli shortly.

"There is more to beauty in the world than stone and metal," chided the elf. "Then if you don't mind, I too shall take my leisure."

"No, no, go ahead. I'll be fine, won't I Fatty?" Once alone, but for the pony, Gimli felt an unknown pressure building inside him. Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he barked at Fatty, "What are you looking at!" The pony just continued to stare placidly at him and chew grass. "Oh forget it," the dwarf harrumphed. He dropped the reins and reluctantly started dragging himself toward the mound.

* * *

The wizard and the mutant took the last step up onto the flet and gained their first truly unimpeded view of the Golden Wood stretched out before them in every direction.

"Amroth ruled Lothlorien in days long gone and he made his home here. A fine choice I always thought."

"Where do Celeborn and Galadriel live?" asked Storm.

"Off to the south," pointed Gandalf. "There, in the city of Caras Galadhon." In the distance Storm saw a hill crowned with magnificent tall trees, sunlight reflecting off flets large and small built high up among their branches.

"Will we get there today?"

"No. I suspect Haldir diverted us here on purpose to give our hosts another day to prepare for our arrival."

"Why?"

The wizard chuckled, "It's probably been centuries since an embassy as impressive as ours has crossed their threshold. They're probably out of practice." Gandalf pulled out his pipe and sucked on its end. "Hopefully, they have some pipeweed stored away somewhere. Should have packed more. I ran out the other side of the Misty Mountains."

At their mention, Storm turned to look back at the cold, snowy heights. "This weather isn't natural, is it?" she asked.

Gandalf chuckled again, "You should know."

Storm stared up at the sky and sent part of herself soaring upward, going as far as the stratosphere. Twenty seconds later she said, "Not your typical high pressure ridge."

"Could you move it?" he asked mischievously.

Storm's eyebrows clenched in concerted thought. "I could nibble around the edges, but it's anchored tight … somehow."

Gandalf smiled, "High praise. The Lady Galadriel will be pleased too, once she gets to know you better."

"Plays havoc with weather patterns to the East," declared Storm.

"Ah, yes, the East," said the wizard, turning to look in that direction. Storm soon turned to share the view.

"That's the Anduin, isn't it?" The lands beyond the river appeared grey, dull, and lifeless. "What's the dark smudge on the horizon?"

"The southern fastness of Mirkwood," Gandalf answered grimly. "The Enemy once dwelt there on the stony height of Dol Guldur, under the disguise of the Necromancer, till we drove him out." The member of the White Countil turned his thoughts toward Saruman and what had occurred sixty years earlier. "Or did we really?" he whispered.

* * *

The soothing calm and joyous mood bubbling physically, magically, subconsciously throughout Lorien, and enhanced even further at, or by, Cerin Amroth, had had a pacifying effect on Jean, giving her a chance to appreciate her passage over and around the small hill. Several times she found herself remembering happier times, of another place, another world. "Scott," she moaned aloud after her most recent dalliance down memory lane. The red head quickly turned to see whether anyone had caught her sudden loss of self control. Only Aragorn was anywhere near earshot, and he seemed as self absorbed as she had been. "_Arwen vanimelda, namarie!_" she heard him say longingly in the elven tongue.

Intrigued, Jean's mind reached out to brush against the ranger's. For a wonder, the man's shields were barely present. Jean physically and psychically gave furtive glances to see whether anyone was watching. Finding herself free from observation, she slipped lightly into the man's mind. A younger, fairer, more innocent Aragorn strolled hand in hand with the beautiful Arwen, the elven princess who during a song in the Hall of Fire had seemed to stare right into Jean's soul her first night awake at Rivendell. The two were clearly lovers, the elven words spoken between the two needed no translation when stolen straight from the handsome man's mind. The lovers pained at a nearing separation, Aragorn's humanity making him an undesirable match for the ageless Arwen, elven by birth. The melancholy of the couple as they lay down together in a bed of leaves, exchanging passionate kisses that both knew might be there last, thrust a dagger of pain into Jean. 'Scott, oh my lost Scott,' she thought. Suddenly she flung herself from Aragorn's mind. The outburst over her own far away lover had waivered Jean's control enough to give the strong willed Dunedain an inkling he was not alone in his mind.

The telepath promptly sauntered as inconspicuously as possible out of his sight, only to gain a view of Rogue and Boromir together. The pair held hands, staring into each other's eyes, not daring to kiss. Jean's probes slid easily into the subconscious of both, immediately feeling the heat of their unfocused passions, brought on by the sheer magnitude of life flowing around and through them in this elvish Eden. Yet both were wary of the consequences of Rogue's power, and the effort by both to stop from fully expressing the emtions building within themselves over the last few weeks was physically painful.

((_alone so long._))

Tears sprang to Jean's eyes as the frustration the two felt began to reflect back into the telepath. She effortlessly withdrew her probes and started to try to physically run away from the longing she herself also yearned for.

Smack.

"Oh Jean, I am sorry," said Legolas. "You came around the trunk so quickly … are you hurt? You are crying."

"Legolas, I .. I .." she stuttered out, peering into the Mirkwood Prince's perfectly sculpted, beautiful elven features. "I'm fine … It's just … well .."

A solicitous look crossed his face, "Confide in me. Cerin Amroth is a place of pleasure, not tears."

"Oh Legolas!" Jean threw herself into the elf's strong arms, which wrapped reflexively around her.

"Jean?"

"Love me Legolas. Make love to me. Now! I'll scream if you don't."

The elf's body tensed at the bizarre turn of events. His hands came up to the side of the red head's shoulders, and began to try and pry her clinging body from his frame. "Jean, this isn't appropriate," he whispered forcefully.

"Oh you ass. I'm not asking you to marry me! No one's held me, no one's _shown_ me love even once in this damn world. Is it so wrong, in this place of life, to need love?"

Legolas shook his head in the negative. "I am not that person, Jean. I cannot."

"God damn ass!" she shouted. Invisible, impossibly strong telekinetic hands threw him twenty feet away from the angry mutant. "I ought to …" and Jean stomped her foot before turning to stride off forcefully from beneath the tall trees and down the slope of the mound.


	23. Chapter 23 - The Lady

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 23 – The Lady**

"Phew," said Storm, walking next to her red haired friend as the Fellowship and their elven guide left the night's encampment and took to a wide, white stone graded avenue passing beneath a golden leafed canopy. "You can almost touch the tension this morning. What is it with everybody?"

"Cerin Amroth," Jean responded.

Storm crinkled her face trying to put meaning to words, but failed. "I don't understand."

"Didn't you feel it? Didn't it make you … more alive?"

Storm laughed, "Not feeling alive isn't usually a problem for me."

"Well it was tough on a bunch of people. In about five seconds Rogue is going to turn around, _again_, to stare at Boromir. … There!"

"I was wondering when something would happen on that front. Those two have been edging closer and closer the whole journey. What did you see?" asked Storm in a voice of gossipy enthusiasm.

"A lot of holding hands and staring into each other's eyes. Boromir's a gentleman enough, but if Rogue's power wasn't what it is, she'd be trying to cover a bunch of hickeys this morning."

Storm let out a sympathetic, "ohhh. Poor girl."

"You don't disapprove? He's got to be close to three times her age."

"I didn't say that I approve, though you must admit none of us are the same people we were three months ago. Besides, what can they really do? I almost wish they could. She is one affection starved girl."

"Well she's not the only one missing affection. Aragorn is mooning over Arwen. Seems they fell in love in Lorien. All he did yesterday at Cerin Amroth was relive his memories of her here."

"Did he tell you?"

"No. Ahhhh. I sort of read his mind."

"What? Jean!" Storm whispered in harsh condemnation.

"I know, I know. I pick up a lot more these days, and he was just broadcasting his … feelings, and for once he didn't have his shields up, so I just sort of wandered in."

"That's horrible."

"Yes, I completely agree. And what's worse, I'm pretty sure he figured out I was there. But that's not the most terrible part."

"Oh Jean, what did you do?" Storm asked with a low rumble of thunder to her voice.

"I, uhm, I made a pass at Legolas," Jean replied in a barely audible tone.

Storm sucked in a deep breath, but refrained, barely, from saying anything.

"I'm such a shit. I betrayed Scott. I betrayed Scott. Damn, damn, damn." Jean snorted. "Legolas must be weirded out. And I'm racked with guilt. I betrayed Scott. All this crap because I couldn't control myself, control my emotions, control my loneliness."

Storm took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I think, I think we are all in an incredibly unusual and stressful situation here. No one is perfect. Now more than ever, a little tolerance and latitude seems appropriate. It might not look this way right now, but I think this will blow over. Just, for the love of god Jean, please don't do it again."

Jean sighed, nodding her head in agreement. Storm's words were kind, but the guilt, oh the guilt she felt gnawed at her, deep, deep inside.

* * *

For the second time in as many days, the Fellowship stepped out of the forest and into a large open space deep within the heart of Lorien. A tall earthen rampart, lush with vibrant grasses, loomed high above a deep ditch. The wall curved away in a circular arc from the party to both the east and the west. Inside the palisade rose a green hill upon which rested a veritable forest of its own, with trees rivaling at least the height and breadth of those the company had seen at Cerin Amroth. Supported by the immense branches of the mallorn trees rested an elven city of flets, shining silver in the reflection of the noon day sun.

"Behold Caras Galadhon, the city of the Galadhrim. Alas, we still have another mile's walk, as there is only one entrance and it sits upon the southern rim. Come, come." And with those brief words, Haldir resumed the march, though at a slower pace to allow the Fellowship a chance to gawk at the graceful sight.

Twenty minutes brought the group to a white bridge, which they crossed to find themselves before the tall, strong gates of the city. Haldir knocked upon a thick timber of the gate and whispered something in the Lorien dialect of Sindarin. Immediately the gates swung silently open to reveal two of the tallest and most beautiful elves anyone, save Gandalf and Aragorn, had ever seen; a Lady and a Lord clad wholly in white, Galadriel and Celeborn, the protectors of the Golden Wood.

"Welcome Mithrandir," spoke the Lord Celeborn. "Far too long has passed since last we could partake of your knowledge and kindness. The paths you travelled since have led you through dark and perilous places. And now you journey on the most hazardous one yet, but the most hope filled too. Rest and be at peace as our guest."

"Hail Celeborn, your wisdom is rightly renowned. Happily I accept your invitation and hope to see it extended with friendship to the Fellowship which walks this long, hard road with me."

"Of course, now enter and take respite from the world's ills."

Gandalf bowed slightly to Celeborn and Galadriel, and strode eagerly past them, through the gate and into the shaded boulevard beyond.

Celeborn's eyes, ageless and deep, next honed in sharp as a lance upon the smallest member of the party. "Welcome Frodo of the Shire. Ring-bearer. Please enter and may the serenity of our home ease, if even only for a short time, the weight of your burden."

"Thank you," whispered Frodo shyly in response to the might elf, though he could not take his gaze away from the silent golden haired lady standing beside the great Lord, who stared intently at him, as if searching through his very soul.

"Hail Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Welcome to Lothlorien. Near two score years have passed since we walked together through the Golden Wood. The weight of time and responsibility presses upon you. Enter and find peace." The Lady Galadriel appeared to fix her eyes somewhere deep within the Ranger while her husband spoke to him.

Celeborn then received in turn "Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood," "Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor," "Gimli, son of Gloin, scion of Erebor," and "Samwise, son of Hamfast, tender of gardens." With each greeting from the Lord of Lothlorien, the Lady of Lothlorien stared keenly into the face, the eyes, the heart, and the soul of each companion.

"Welcome Katherine Pryde, friend of the Ring-bearer, Fanadilthien. May the sights and sounds of our haven rejuvenate the joy of your heart. Enter and join your companions."

(**[images of the school, of her room, of friends laughing]**)

"Welcome Anna Marie D'Ancanto, lost child of not Arda, Faergadien. May your souls find harmony in the rhythms and songs of my home."

(**[image of rogue happy in the embrace of a man who's face is hidden]**)

"Welcome Ororo Munroe, daughter of man, Suliltanis. Breath the fresh air of the woods, feel the gentle breeze of the wind, listen to the rustling of the leaves. Enter and rejoice in the beauty of the world."

(**[images of the wide open savannahs, might rivers, and dense jungles of Africa]**)

"Jean Grey, far, traveler, Narwilinien. Enter. Become one with yourself."

(**[image of scott]**)

* * *

Jean, the last of the Fellowship to pass through the gate followed the lead of Storm, just visible in front of her, and headed toward the raised center of the city of trees. Taking many paths and stairs, she climbed the hill till near its apex she came upon an open lawn. Toward the back of the space rose a mighty tree garnished with steps, guarded by four armored elves, leading up to the widest, most elaborately ornamented flet she had yet seen in Lorien. Nearer her, upon the lawn, a fountain sent spouts of water thirty feet in the air to shimmer in sunlight as they dispersed into thousands upon thousands of droplets returning to the bowled pond. Beside the fountain a pavilion spread over a sizeable area, and to that, Jean walked, still trailing the route of her friend. Entering, the first words she heard were the bantering and good natured ribbing so typical of her companions.

"You were blushing Sam, I saw it," declared Kitty. "You looked like a boy with his first crush. Did you want to kiss her?"

"I thought no such thing," protested Sam. "T'wern't nothing like that at all. When she looked at me, and I saw her give near the same stare ta those afore me, well, I felt like she was offerin' me a choice. A smart garden of my own back in the Shire or facing a cloud of darkness ahead. The garden was real pretty, with daffodils and sunflowers; little Samwises running about it. Then I felt ashamed as I knew going there t'would take me from Mister Frodo. Suppose that might have brought some color to my cheeks."

Promptly stirring himself to his friend's defense, Frodo said, "She looked at me first, for I don't believe she tested Gandalf so, …"

Jean bent and whispered into Gimli's ear, "Where is Gandalf?"

Pointing upward with a stubby finger, the dwarf quietly rumbled, "Apparently gone to wait for the elf lords in their flet."

"… and my mind experienced, just for a second, how free it feels without the weight of the ring. It's a heavy thing for something so small. Did the Lady touch you with such a sensation Kitty?"

"Well, uhh, home," Kitty reluctantly drawled, then repeated in a harsh rush, "I saw home."

"Home," echoed Storm, nodding her head in joint agreement.

"Mithral," laughed Gimli, slapping Frodo on his shoulder. "Like there's a large enough pile of it near me that I'd be lured to turn my back on you Frodo. Ha!"

"I was not tempted by this trickery of hers either," pronounced Boromir. "The Men of Minas Tirith know duty and honor."

"Well what did she offer you?" asked Kitty.

The tall man shook his head negatively. "I will not say. Though I was not tempted, I will admit the offer did cut hard."

Rogue started crying. "I failed, I failed," she started wailing. "I'm so sorry Frodo, so sorry. I would have taken her offer if I could." The teen turned with widening arms and took a step toward Storm. She stopped as suddenly as she started, realizing the impossibility of what she wanted. Rogue then knelt hard and started banging the soft turf floor of the pavilion as hard as her tightly squeezed fists could handle.

Storm quickly squatted beside the girl and rubbed a hand sympathetically along her back.

Jean looked at the guilt torn girl and remembered the choice offered her. A tear began to bud in the corner of one eye. 'We are mutants,' she thought. 'Life is always unfair.'

* * *

Galdor took a step and another step and another step up the curved stairwell of the tallest tower in Forlond, for upon his return from the delf lands of the Ered Luin he had been told that was where Cirdan was ensconced. Coming atop the dry deck ring of the Grey Tower he spied Cirdan surveying the shipyards. Few were the sounds of hammers and saws floating on the wind.

Without the Shipwright turning his head, he greeted him, "Welcome back Galdor, I have missed your wise counsel, but I cannot say I have been unaffected by your counsels."

"It tastes good to breath the salt air again, Master."

"And how did your trip among the Firebeard naugrims fare?"

"Well. Appeals to their greedy and martial vanity were effective. And every dwarf home has its malcontents, for good or bad, that even the stupidest of Lords can see the advantage of finding an outlet for. At least thirty of their delfs shall attend the council here in your name, though I was presumptuous to declare its existence without first seeking your permission."

Cirdan still peering out, not yet having directly faced his chief councilor, waved a placating hand toward him. "Events may move quicker than even an elf may answer. You did what you deemed wise. I would hardly punish you for that."

Galdor paused, disquieted somehow by the sparseness of work he heard from down below. "And is someone travelling among the Broadbeams?"

"Yes. Maethil. I sent Azaghal with him. He is sharp and can smell a coin. I gave him extra incentive by hiring him as the supplier for the gathering site of however many dwarves can be mustered for a host."

Galdor's head nodded at his Lord's smart play, till his underlying worry finally grew into a concise thought. "A lax day it seems on the ships," he tendered.

At these words, Cirdan at last turned to show Galdor sad eyes. "Yes, about the other plan you and this not-Edain, not-Quenya woman devised. I have had reservations."

As the Shipwright explained his caution, Galdor felt an anger well up within him stronger than any he had felt since the fall of Arnor.

* * *

Gandalf returned to his companions, now taking ease in the luxurious pavilion provided them by their hosts, as the first hints of dusk were suggested by the slow dimming of light coming through the sheer white walls of the tent.

"Spruce up!" the wizard shouted immediately upon walking through the curtained entrance. "We are invited to dinner!"

"Gandalf!" most of them shouted.

"And I bring gifts," he announced with a smile, then clapped his hands twice. A party of elves, both female and male, with sets of new clothing draped over their arms promptly swept in on cue.

Kitty and Rogue shrieked in delight. Storm and Jean smiled broadly. The males gave more ambiguous responses, though none failed to take advantage of the offer of clean, elven made garb. Both sets of genders, after making a choice from the admittedly limited selection of wears offered, withdrew to the sheet partitioned areas already set up to provide a modicum of privacy based on sex. Aragorn, Boromir, Frodo, Gimli, Legolas, and Sam came back to the main area of the pavilion in less than ten minutes. The mutant ladies only appeared after twice that amount of time.

"Ah, at last, they grace us with their presence," the wizard proclaimed.

"Gandalf, why didn't you change?" asked Kitty.

"I am rightly renowned as 'the Grey'. Alas, they lacked my color, so I choose to remain my bedraggled self."

"You could have at least used the time to bath," smirked Storm, not letting a man's snide comment about the speed of womanly dressing go unchallenged. "Your renown may soon alter to 'the Over-ripe' or dare I say, 'the Whiffy Wizard.'"

Rogue laughed. "No, no, it needs more alliteration. 'Gandalf the Gunky.'"

The wizard smiled good naturedly at their teasing. "Such disrespect for your elder, how disheartening!" he responded in an exaggerated tone of voice. "I hope you remember your manners when we sit down with the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel to sup. Come, come, they await." And he ushered his friends out of the pavilion and toward the guarded stairs leading up the master tree to the lordly flet high above Caras Galadhon.

On the leisurely assent, Gandalf provided a summary of his earlier conference with their gracious hosts, which boiled down to a retelling of the Council of Elrond, especially highlighting the appearance of the four mutant ladies and the treachery of Saruman, as well as descriptions of the crossing the Redhorn Gate and the rendering of the Dimrill Gate in the face of the Balrog.

The eleven guests were greeted warmly and led to seats around a table at which Celeborn sat at one end and Galadriel at the other. Frodo, Gimli, and Jean were placed closest to the lady, while Boromir, Storm, and Gandalf took the chairs nearest the lord. The remaining five found themselves ensconced around the middle of the darkly lacquered, intricately carved dining surface. Once everyone was comfortable, Lord Celeborn lifted a crystal full of sparkling wine and toasted, "To your quest, may it bring peace."

A few "here, heres" rang out as everyone took at least a sip in acknowledgement of the Lord of the Galadhrim's words. Gimli took the opportunity of the toast to down his entire glass and then promptly look about the table for a refill.

"Gandalf has spoken to us of the difficulties of your plight, but my heart is gladdened each of you survived to reach fair Lorien," said Galadriel, gazing the length of the table as she spoke.

_(are you?)_

Jean cast her question at the empty space in her mind's eye where her physical vision placed the Lady of the Galadhrim. Surprisingly, she received a response.

_(none of the deed's in gandalf's long, wise life have been needless or folly. he believes in the role thou shalt play in the demise of the Ring, therefore i must too, no matter how my soul trembles.)_

"And our hearts have been gladdened walking the fair paths of your Golden Woods," answered Frodo.

"Yes," added Jean. "The stillness of your home can make me at times forget the terrible path we tread."

After a moment's pause Gimli realized the need for a social pleasantry, which he first responded to by noisily clearing his throat, then finally croaked out uncomfortably, "As the only dwarf of living memory to pass between your mighty trees, I am honored."

The lady smiled at the politeness of her nervous guests and took pity on them by leading conversations on topics more easing to each of them; the Shire, teaching, the working of metal, and other subjects they might discuss in the surrounding of their own homes. At the other end of the table, Celeborn quizzed his dinner mates with questions on Elrond's machinations for Mirkwood, Erebor, and the Havens. Food, glorious food, and sweet, savory, tasty beverages flowed across the dining board and into the flavor starved mouths of the Fellowship. Hours passed in agreeable repast and interesting speech.

"Long we feared and conjectured what terror might sleep far under the red granite of Caradhras, beyond the keen of our vision," came Celeborn's words flowing down the table. "Now we know for certain what the evil is, and it fills me with dread that such as that may one day try to enter the borders of the Golden Wood. No wonder Durin's valiant folk were driven long ago from Moria."

Overhearing the conversation from the other end, Gimli spoke up loudly, interrupting, "Begging your lordship's pardon, but did your people ever have word with my cousin Balin or any of those who followed him to Khazad-dum over thirty years ago?"

"Our scouts noted their coming in a proud martial column, carrying many supplies and other materials. For a time I sent scouts to spy on the Dimrill Dale under a full moon to see what might be seen from a distance. It is near five and twenty years since any signs of dwarven work were noted."

"Oh," came Gimli's forlorn response.

"Perchance they delved too deep and awoke this vile bane of your folk. I suspect they have paid in blood for the foolish dream of returning to Moria. May the Galadhrim not now suffer for it too."

At the perceived insult of Celeborn's words, a deep rumble of indignation started to ascend Gimli's stout throat, to which Gandalf quickly intervened. "Come now Celeborn, remember your history. Durin started to delve Moria before the destruction of Angband. That Balrog must be one of the few survivors of the fall of Morgoth, fleeing far and deep to avoid the wrath of the Valar."

"Perhaps," responded the mighty elf dubiously.

Gandalf continued, "I suppose it could have lain there since the Music of the Ainur, but then to blame dwarves for digging, you might as well ask the acorns in Lorien to stop sprouting into saplings. Be reasonable."

Galadriel laughed daintily at the image the wizard presented, though she noted a shadow of disapproval remaining on her lord's visage. Addressing her husband, she asked, "If by chance our people were driven from Lothlorien by a dark evil, would even Celeborn forgo a chance to walk again, if only for just a minute, under the golden leaves? Regardless of the peril?"

The Elf Lord nodded his head as he weighed the words of his lady. She continued, meeting the sullen eyes of Gimli, speaking in Khuzdul, the language of dwarves. "The water of Kheled-zaram, the spring of Kibil-nala, the halls of Khazad-dum; these are the memories molded into the sturdy soul of each of Durin's children at birth. Begrudge them not their dream."

Gimli's eyes widened in surprise and appreciation as the lady spoke of his people's hallowed places in his own tongue, her accent one that would not be out of place under the Lonely Mountain, Erebor. The longer he stared back at Galadriel, the more a feeling near toward love stirred within his heart. Finally unable to further contain himself, he pushed back his chair, grabbed his glass and stood. "To Galadriel, a jewel greater than any every delved or shaped by my ancestors."

Not a voice in the dining hall failed to rise in agreement with the dwarf's gallant pronouncement. The Fellowship stayed late into the night enjoying the hospitality of the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim.

* * *

Galdor watched another tankard fall to the granite floor, spraying more ale or beer or wine among the bones, meat, and other leftover morsels from the messy lunch which the fifty seven dwarf lords sitting, yelling, stomping, and cursing in Cirdan's Council Room had half masticated their way through while debating the proposal before them. To march on Isengard or to not march. Perhaps 'debate' was too kind a term thought the elf lord. 'Airing of the grievances,' more rightly he supposed. Firebeard versus Broadbeam. Delf versus delf. Cousin versus cousin. Jilted scorned suitor versus successful disappointed groom. Stonemason versus iron monger. The minutia for rivalries seemed endless.

Galdor felt a nudge in his ribs and he looked down at the dwarven trader beside him, his partner in plotting.

"It goes well," whispered Azaghal, concealing a smile.

"How so?"

"The eight lady beards left before the mutton were even served. Everyone's still talking. And no knives have been pulled, though I thought that turd Bavin was gonna throttle a couple of necks."

"Yes, I suppose those might be considered positive omens. Lucky it seems all abided Cirdan's request to keep steel out of the hall."

"Rigghhhht," drawled Azaghal sarcastically while rolling his eyes.

"Tempers did flair though when Blaese walloped Stend after being taunted for his resemblance to a randy goat."

"What? That love tap? Negotiations, pure and simple. Nogur gave Stend the nod to stir up a little shindy, he just wanted to get a count of who backed him with a ruling council and who that clod Blaese with the stupid idea of a sole hereditary delf lord. Fortunate only the most stupid backed the idiot and the notion of a sole lord, else we'd be here till the host of Mordor laid siege to us before they'd have got done arguing over which sisters' second boy deserved it over some other dimwitted spawn of a favorite aunt's grandchild."

"Then why the continuing … theatrics?"

"Details, details. Ever seen a sloppy bit of dwarven craftship?"

"No."

"Damn right! Cause we take details seriously."

The sound of another mug striking the floor reached Galdor, followed by deep snores. "Give Bilbo a poke, would you Azaghal. He's an important symbol here. He shouldn't be seen napping in the middle of council."

"Oh give the old hobbit a break. He might just get the rest to thinkin' it's about time to wrap up."

* * *

Neralad hunched over and stepped through the door of the tavern in Waymoot. The stunned looks and gaping mouths of the crowd of hobbits warming themselves and taking liquid refreshment in the smoky establishment told the elf all he needed to know about how well the Shire was acclimating to the open presence of his kind, hardly at all.

"Over here!" piped the cheery voice of a hobbit who happened to be sitting at a corner table across from the only other denizen of the bar refusing to be nonplused by the company of an elf.

"Sooooo?" asked this other hobbit. "What's the news?"

Neralad gave a brief nod. "Master Merry. Master Pippin. A letter," and he reached inside his cloak to pull out the correspondence, which Pippin unceremoniously snatched out of the elf's fine leather clad hand.

"It's from Bilbo."

"Open it you boor of a Took."

"I am, I am," he responded, fingers tearing through the wax seal clasping the envelope closed. A fine piece of vellum was then promptly extracted, from which Pippin started to read.

_Dear Merry and Pippin,_

_I hope this message finds you two scoundrels in fine mettle and as busy as a farmer at harvest time. Myself? Well I can't complain. The Havens is not Rivendell, Master Cirdan while a fine fellow cannot be confused with Master Elrond. But both do in a pinch._

_I truly meant my hope about your busi-ness, haha, for Galdor and Master Cirdan tell me to tell you that the dwarves have agreed to march. How they figured that out I'm not sure, but Azaghal assures me it's true. Mostly a lot of shouting seemed to happen. About ten dwarf lords left before lunch. I feel asleep for awhile after the victuals, and when I woke they seemed to be taking a final vote. Another ten didn't like the outcome of that and stormed off in a huff, leaving a little over forty dwarf lords willing to form a host and march on Isengard!_

_They say the gathering of the host will start in the Far Downs on the twenty-fifth of this month and last for five days, with the march starting on the thirtieth. Everyone says to expect around four thousand mouths and eight thousand feet to come together. Cirdan says he can feed the lot of them through to Michael Delving. You two need to start setting your feedlot up there and be ready by the First. They claim you need to space them out every nine leagues, which means you need seven more lots, with the last by Sarn's Ford. They seem pretty confident the dwarves will march that distance every day without fail, though I keep telling them its winter, but I don't think they listen much to me._

_Remember to make the Sarn's Ford feedlot the biggest. It will need to hold enough food to tidy them over the next two hundred or so leagues to Isengard. It would probably be smart to leave any of the extra ponies and carts you bought, instead of rented, at Sarn's Ford for the host to take with them. The less weight even a stout dwarf's back needs to lug around the further he should be able to march each day. Think warm thoughts as you scurry in the cold across the Shire._

_And if you need any help or guidance, Galdor says not to hesitate in sending him a note._

_All for now, best wishes and cheers,_

_Bilbo_

Merry stared hard at Pippin, sucking in a breath. "Well we're on. Let's not bollix this up."

* * *

Halbarad, crouched low on the ridge top, judged it was time to leave and slowly eased himself below the crest line. At least twenty wargs with a half dozen riders spread among them, which he had spied a half mile away through the light flurry, were the primary impetus for his decision. He hopped down the lightly wooded slope, dodging deep snow drifts and stout trunks, but the compacted base which had developed over the last month made it impossible to fully hide the impressions made by his feet. Much of Enedwaith, Minhiriath, Harlindon, and Arthedain lay under a much thicker winter's coat than the norm, even for mid January. The ill weather had started in the last month of the old year, and hadn't eased much between then and now. Worse luck, taking advantage of the cloudy, snow filled days and long winter nights, numerous bands of wargs and their orcan riders had pushed north, locust like, devouring any man or beast with the ill chance to come near their voracious maws.

Halbarad instead intended for misfortune to meet this band of evil creatures, much like the other five bands he had helped ambush during the last fortnight. He reached his birch tethered mount and began readying her to ride; first removing the feed bag and then the blanket upon which a half inch of dander had accumulated while he scouted above. The horse started to nervously move its hoofs before the Ranger felt the deep, almost imperceptible, low frequency growl. Then in an explosion of neighs, barks, stomped hoofs, thrown snow, and immense padded feet thumping on the charge, a solitary warg burst through branches and shrubs, aiming straight for him. Apparently the fools had smartened up enough to send out a scout.

With scarcely a blink, he pulled his hand-and-a-half from its sheath tied to the horse's saddle and charged to meet the assault head on. To let the beast close enough to wound his mount would mean his eventual death from the nearby pack. The mail buried deep under his leather jerkin and bundles of winter clothing might temporarily stop the razor sharp claws and rending teeth of the wolf kin from disemboweling him, but the rest of him had scant protection from the pony sized beast. He stopped just shy of a snow drift, hoping it would cause the warg to jump too soon or provide too soft a base to allow the creature a strong leap.

Time slowed, three … two … one, the warg bounded high … 'too soon' Halbarad thought. As the creature descended from its leap, the back legs plunged through the top of the drift, causing the brute's entire torso to bend to his left, off line. The Ranger stepped to his right and pivoted, allowing the warg's momentum to start to carry it past him. As his sword started its two handed descent, he felt claws rake the top of a thigh, then a meaty thunk. The warg's head didn't come completely off at its neck, but near enough. The force of the rest of the hurdling body tore the sword from his hands. The release of tension caused him to fall back on his arse.

Halbarad peered at his legs through two pairs of torn pants and saw three ragged, parallel lines of gouged flesh. 'No bone' he thought. Then he flexed his knee several times. No arterial splash of color greeted that maneuver, just discomfort. Intense discomfort! Regardless, the Ranger forced himself to stand and then tenderly walk over to the rapidly blood draining corpse of the warg. He retrieved his sword, wiping the bloody blade on the cleanest part of the beast's fur, before moving back toward his highly agitated, fiercely snorting mount. He knew he needed to return to Sarn's Ford and pull a hunting party together for the next morning. But the question was whether he would be fit to lead it.


	24. Chapter 24 - And Her Mirror

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 24 – And Her Mirror**

When most of the party awoke the next morning in the pavilion, they found Legolas already departed and Gandalf standing at the entrance to the tent, gazing off over the lawn of Caras Galadhon while blowing rings with his newly resupplied pipe-weed. Noting Frodo and Sam's attention to his smoky habit, the wizard reached into his cloak and pulled out a pouch. "It lacks the bite of a good Southfarthing blend, but it will do." And Gandalf tossed the package to his two hobbit friends who quickly availed themselves of its contents.

Kitty coughed exaggeratively at the sudden graying of the tent's atmosphere. "Is there anywhere I can go to escape your polluting hobby?" the teen asked.

Waving the mouth end of his pipe out the pavilion entrance, Gandalf answered, "Go explore. That's where Legolas is already off to. There is an entire city of elves outside, and we have the permission of their lord and lady to go wherever we wish. Listen to their music, watch them at craftwork, stroll through their gardens, taste their food. You shan't be bored."

And for the next several weeks, that is what the Fellowship did. Live without much care for the morrow. Many a night Legolas never returned, sleeping in the homes of whichever distant, distant cousin he had spent the day with. Frequently the Prince of Mirkwood would drag a reluctant Gimli with him to experience some wonder of nature, and as time slowly seemed to pass, the need of Legolas to drag the dwarf lessened until it became totally unnecessary. Boromir and Rogue continued that which they had started at Cerin Amroth, strolling together amongst the trees, in the sunshine, holding hands, and talking. Kitty, feeling abandoned by her teen friend, came one day upon Galadriel and several of her ladies spinning thread, weaving clothes of subtle colors and delicate patterns, and singing songs of tremendous joy and others of terrible sadness. Regularly the youngest mutant returned to that spot, her presence always welcomed. Sam dragged Frodo to every garden spot he could discover within the tall ramparts of the city, and ever so careful did he watch the skills of cultivation the elven greenskeepers applied to their botanic wards. Storm appointed herself Jean's keeper and brought her to the centers of learning within Caras Galadhon, which tended toward a higher probability of containing an elf with at least a smattering of Westron, the common speech of men and nearly identical to their own English. The women offered to those elves who would listen their earth born explanations for astronomy, physics, chemistry, botany, and calculus. In exchange they listened to the elven explanation of Eru's laws for how and why Arda functioned as it did. Of Aragorn and Gandalf, little was seen or heard during this time. They would usually leave early, sometimes together, sometimes not; and they tended toward returns after the evening meal. Often they were asked their business, but polite evasions were their invariable responses.

* * *

Legolas jammed his fingers and toes into crevasses of the rough bark of the Mallorn tree as he continued his descent. Dinendon had steered him true, several types of creeping violas, in white, pale yellow, and soft orange hues grew along the upper branches of several Mallorns in this part of Lorien. Somehow, enough soil to support their delicate roots had lodged in the crooks of various branch junctures with the trunk, which along with sufficient mist and precipitation that seeped down the bark from above kept them feed. The part of the elf's mind not focusing on the climb, reflected on the perfection of the lilac color streaked through the slightly differently colored petal of each viola. He paused and smelled a distinctive odor of smoke. A quick glance showed him a mere twenty feet from the forest floor, he released his grip and dropped, landing lightly on his feet, knees bending to absorb some of the force.

"Hail Mithrandir."

"Greetings Legolas," came a voice from the shadow of a nearby tree. The words were quickly followed by his grey hat topped form emerging into a ray of sunshine, giving a paler tint than usual to his normal coloring. "I fear I must ask that our conversation here remain private betwixt us."

"Your confidences shall remain unspoken."

"And unthought too, if you will," came the wizard's enigmatic reply, which raised the elf's curiosity higher still, though to look at him revealed no change in attitude. "Soon the Lady Galadriel will begin to offer the members of our Fellowship, either in pairs or alone, the opportunity to peer into her mirror."

"I have heard rumor of this enchantment, none experience it unchanged."

"Yes, that may well be true. But even for those of us who may choose not to see her reflections, the mirror is still a sign; a portent that our time of peace in this tranquil wood is ending. The last to be asked will be Frodo, the Ring Bearer, and we shall depart Caras Galadhon the morning after our dear hobbit friend has seen what he will see."

"What path will you lead us on? To where?"

"To the future."

"Ah."

"Each of us shall have a different one. But yours I wish to be entwined with Frodo … to the end. To the very end."

Legolas crooked his eyebrows, "You and Aragorn have passed beneath the Shadow before. I know nothing of the dark paths and secret tracks of Mordor."

"True, but Aragorn's destiny shall tug him elsewhere and I fear I will be needed everywhere and all at once. In your favor you have the keen eye and silent sylvan step of Mirkwood. No finer guide could Frodo want, nor one likely to be tempted aside."

"And what of Sam?"

Gandalf sighed. "No truer friend could one hope for than Samwise Gamgee. He would protect Frodo with his very life. Let us hope that need never arises, though if ever there were a place to require such, then within the Black Land it is."

"You spoke of privacy for these words. When shall they be told?"

Gandalf pursed his lips. "Not now. Not for weeks. Far down the Anduin. The time when it comes will likely be obvious, though hard on everyone. Do not mull on this over long in your mind. But do discover what the lore masters of Lorien know about the Ered Lithui and the Ephel Duath."

* * *

Cirdan peered out through the swirling snow above Forlond toward the Gulf of Luhn. Two inches had already fallen since dawn and much, much more was gathering in the moisture laden skies to the west, ready to bear down and drop at least another foot. This was the start of the third blizzard since the beginning of the new year. December had been wetter than usual as well. It all added up to more than mere coincidence. The Shipwright's gaze softened and took on a dreamy quality as he widened his vision. A melody came unbidden to his lips and he began to softly sing of his friend Earendil and of the ship Vingilote that he himself had built for the son of Idril and Tuor to ride the swells of the Belegaer, the Great Sea.

As he continued the gentle song, the inner glow of Cirdan touched with echoes of the Music of the Ainur and his vision swelled. His mind's eye swooped down the long Gulf of Luhn and out over the storm swept waves of the Belegaer. He tasted the air and felt the tug of the currents. As the most skilled captain yet remaining on Middle Earth, the Shipwright adjudged the patterns of wind and water somehow askew. The song he sang then took a harsh tone and spun the tale of how the treacherous sons of Feanor attacked Earendil's home of Arvernien in search of the Silmaril rescued from Morgoth by Luthien.

His vision turned north, seeking answers. Clouds finally gave way to fierce winds as he looked past the Island of Himling. Eyes grew cold as he peered over the frozen sheet atop the Icebay of Forochel. Further north he stretched, his body swaying in unity with the arctic blasts his mind saw dipping south. Thought became slow, sluggish. The view of Arda started glazing over. Ice! Near invisible black ice was clinging to his aura. The song rasped out through near paralyzed vocal chords, but struggle out it did, telling of beautiful Elwing, the wife of Earendil, grabbing the Silmaril to her bosom and throwing herself into the Sea to avoid capture, though it meant her own certain doom. Then miraculously, Ulmo, the Vala Lord of Waters, raised Elwing out of the waves, giving her the visage of a great bird.

Cirdan fled south, immensely weary, fleeing the icy wind chasing after him, trying to immobilize him in its frozen embrace. But his song warmed him and his vision cleared the farther he withdrew. Refusing to abandon his duty, as Elwing refused to stop searching for her love, he turned his gaze below the Gulf of Luhn and extended his view beyond the shores of Harlindon, eventually catching a glimmer of the waters near the Cape of Andrast. The Harn whales and fluke tunas broached waters too far into the north Belegaer, away from their normal winter grounds in the waters of the Bay of Belfalas … unless, unless, currents warmed in the Southron sun now flowed in opposition to the natural rhythms established by Ulmo. Satisfied, the Shipwright returned to himself, as he sang of how on a clear night aboard the 'Foam Follower', swift Vingilote, Earendil spied a stark white cloud quickly rushing at him, as if driven by the winds of a storm. And then the white fell into his arms and he was amazed to behold his beautiful wife, asleep, exhausted by her long quest in search of him, at the last, successful.

The blustery gusts of the incoming blizzard muffled the Shipwright's sigh and subsequent words, spoken only to the wind, for he had been alone on the deck ring of the Grey Tower. "The arm of the Enemy has indeed grown long; and woe unto us that his reach is aided by the traitor Curunir, whom once I welcomed here as he first stepped afoot on Middle Earth. But perhaps the course of diversion succeeds, if those two fallen children of Eru Iluvatar extend themselves so mightily to keep this refuge shut off from the sea. Much there is now to ponder. What course shall I set?"

* * *

"Boromir was super quiet today," Kitty said. "I was surprised he didn't want to go for a walk with you after dinner. You two _usually_ do."

"Yeah, he's been kind of flaky today," Rogue agreed. Then, looking sheepish, she added. "I've sort of been ignoring you lately. Sorry, Kitty."

"You should be, getting yourself a boyfriend while on a mission."

"No, we're just …"

"Oh, please!" Kitty cut off her friend. After several moments of silence between the two, Kitty admitted, "He is pretty hunky ..."

Rogue smiled.

" … if a little old."

Rogue's smile turned upside down and she punched Kitty, not _too_ hard, in the shoulder. "He doesn't even look thirty."

"No. Nobody on Middle Earth looks their age. And no hitting. Slut."

"Skank."

"Uhm …"

"What!?"

"What about Bobby? I mean, back at school, weren't the two of you … ? You both seemed so … happy … together. When we get back … aren't you going to … with Bobby?"

A stone mask dropped over Rogue's face. "Get back, ha! That's a shitty pipedream. The school, Bobby, our friends, they're all the hell way off there." A hand waved vaguely toward the horizon. "And you, and I, we're stuck here." A finger pointed hard at the earth under their feet. "And that's the way it is! Get used to it."

Kitty started sniffling and tearing up at her friend's unyielding words and harsh prediction of the future. The teen used the palms of both hands to wipe tears off her damp checks. Suddenly, through her dewy eyes and the twilight cast in the evening air by the lanterns dangling from the branches over her, Kitty saw the Lady Galadriel approaching the two of them. The lady spoke no words, but beckoned them with a welcoming smile and a delicately turned hand.

_(come.)_

The two friends exchanged a quick look and opted to follow the beautiful elf as she began a stately procession across the thick soft grass; eventually passing through a hedge to enter a garden neither had yet to explore. The lady continued on, taking a long flight of stone stairs placed in the curving turf, descending into a deep, narrow hollow carved out of the hill of Caras Galadhon. They stepped across a slender trickle of stream that watered the plethora of flowers and blossoming shrubs. At last Galadriel stopped on a small terrace of slate upon which rested a low stone pedestal carved in the shape of a Mallorn branch. The top of the pedestal reflected the silver of a basin nestled within an embrace of small marble limbs fashioned to make the top of the pedestal.

The lady waved her hand over the basin. "This is the Mirror of Galadriel. With it I have spied upon the heart of the ancient Enemy. Much it may reveal to one strong enough to look to the future. I offer each of you the choice to gaze upon it."

"Wha .. what exactly will we see? Tomorrow? A month from now? Ten years from now?" asked Kitty.

"That I cannot say. The mirror reflects the wants, the needs of the viewer. Perhaps it shall merely show you things to gladden your heart. Or mayhap it will reveal things more terrible, more profitable, to behold."

"That doesn't sound so good," murmured Rogue.

"Yeah, but remember what the Professor always says, 'knowledge is power,'" said Kitty.

"Beware child, it shows not only that which will be, but that which may yet be. And even the wisest cannot always tell the twain apart."

"_Greatttttt_," Rogue sarcastically retorted.

"Can you guide us?" asked KItty.

Galadriel shook her head no. "The mirror reveals most when attuned to only the watcher. Do you wish to look?"

"Should we?" asked Kitty nervously.

"It's probably a trap," Rogue answered.

"Maybe it will show if we get home," Kitty said anxiously.

"And if it does, it doesn't mean it actually happens. You heard her, 'that which _may_ yet be.' This is so a trap. Don't buy into it Kitty," Rogue said sternly.

"I'm going to. Please Lady, may I look?" Kitty begged.

Rogue shook her head disgustedly. "Idiot," she whispered.

The Lady Galadriel reached down, picked up a delicately crafted carafe from behind the pedestal, and poured a thin sheen of water into the silver basin. "Come child, step forward and see what you will see."

Kitty approached and peered down, noting the reflection of stars from above in the dark water below. Abruptly, the constellation of reflected star light changed and the dark water took on a greyer tone with a hint of mass behind it. The vision on the surface pulled further back, and the lights and grey tone came into focus, taking on distinct forms. Kitty gasped, "It's the school! The courtyard at night time, the flood lights are on!" she squealed. "I'm taking a walk … with Bobby. We're talking. I can't hear what we're saying." Kitty leaned over the image; hands reaching to grab the sides of the pedestal, hoping words would emerge from the mute, watery picture.

"Do not touch the water!" Galadriel commanded.

Kitty flinched at the order, but did not lose focus on her glimpses of home. Home! "Coooool! Bobby's icing up the fountain. We're going skating." She stopped talking as a funny feeling built within her, watching Bobby hold her hand, teaching her how to skate, together.

"Hey, the light faded. Oh!" A new image slowly swirled into focus on the Mirror. Forbidding mountains lay in the distance under a sky obscured by angry black clouds and soot filled air. A tired, pathetic group, all manacled to a long iron chain, trudged slowly in unison along a dusty, hard beaten trail. Several gnarly looking orcs, many missing digits, or a hand, or an ear, or even an eye kept pace, occasionally snapping whips fiercely across the backs of the lowly prisoners or slaves. Finally the fattest orc held up his whip and the chain gang lurched to a sudden halt, immediately followed by exhausted falls to the ground by those fettered together. The point of view of the mirror swooped around the group to the other side and focused closely on one excruciatingly slender, thread bare prisoner, bent over, long, tangled, dirty hair obscuring the face. A dirty, sore laden hand pushed the ragged tresses back, revealing … "Me." Kitty uttered in a shocked huff. Kitty watched as a smirk came across her other face, and then watched her other self's ankles phase through the shackles. "You go girl! No stop!"

Again the image on the Mirror swirled. Blacker than midnight the water churned, except for the dimmest hint of light on one edge of the vision. Seconds passed, then finally Kitty saw her own face slowly emerge from the darkness, a nose, a smiling mouth, two bright eyes, rosy cheeks. Her mirrored face expressed a look of euphoria. Bit by bit, more of her came into view. Her hair was whipping around behind her. The top of her upper arms, stretched outward from her shoulders, became visible. The light of dawn started to reflect in her irises. "I'm flying," Kitty whispered giddily. Unable to restrain her enthusiasm at the moment of perfect happiness before her, the teen started jumping up and down, clapping her hands in joy. "Oh, is it over?" asked a crestfallen Kitty.

"Yes, Katherine Anne Pryde. Are you happy with what you saw?"

"Shut up! Of course I am!" Finally, remembering her manners, Kitty forcibly calmed herself. "Thank you for this gift Lady Galadriel. If there is anything I can ever do to repay your favor, please, just ask."

The Lady of Lorien smiled at the enthusiasm and innocence of this daughter of man. "By your coming to my home, you and all your Fellowship have already given me a greater gift, the gift of renewed hope. So please take another gift, if you will, and that is to remember that the Mirror shows many things. Many have yet to pass; and some never do. Be wary in letting the Mirror be your guide." With that pronouncement, Galadriel turned to her other companion.

"Anna Marie D'Ancanto, do you wish to dare the Mirror?"

A thoughtful look spread across Rogue's face. At last she spoke. "Are you offering this choice to all of us?"

The Lady nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"Last night, did Boromir look in the Mirror."

"It is not for me to say what any one person may have seen in the Mirror."

"I'm not asking what he saw. I'm asking if he chose to look."

"He did."

Rogue chewed at her lower lip, remembering Boromir's strange behavior all day long and trying to guess the implications of it. "No. I'm right. This is a trap. I failed your first test, the day we arrived." Rogue whirled her hand around to encompass Caras Galadhon and Lorien beyond. "This is all a trap. I won't look in your Mirror. I want to leave. We need to leave. This place isn't real."

Galadriel gestured toward the way they had entered the hollow. "You will depart anon, once every member of your Fellowship has been offered the use of the Mirror."

* * *

The Lady had surprised Jean, but not Storm. Jean's back had been turned, and the gracious, beautiful elven maid presented nothing for her mind's eye to take note of Galadriel's approach. Jean was in deep conversation with Storm, when her snow haired friend unexpectedly blurted out, "A pleasure to see you this evening my lady. How may we be of service?" The resulting stroll with their hostess had taken the two mutants to a lovely garden, an intriguing magical device, and an interesting choice. After debating the metaphysics, quantum temporal mechanics, possible butterfly effects, and the morality of knowing the future, or fragments of possible futures, both women chose to view the Mirror, despite the frustratingly enigmatic answers they received from Galadriel to their more probing questions. By the ages old tradition of rock, paper, scissor, Storm, by dint of victory, earned the right to peer into the Mirror first.

The Lady of the Golden Woods poured water into the basin, bade Storm to watch, and added one final advice as the mutant stepped up to the pedestal, "Ororo Munroe, do not touch the water."

"Wow, I'm gorgeous," Storm whispered. A small crown sat atop her head, helping to restrain a tremendous amount of intricately braided hair. A luxurious gown of grey, white, and black lay draped across her shoulders, elaborate silver bracelets entwined around both forearms, and a thick golden torc wrapped her neck. Several graying, but still vital men and women sat at a long table before her. Resting on top of the mahogany colored wood were papers, maps, sketches, a diorama, and small models of buildings, a water screw, a wagon, a boat, and other devices. Storm saw herself point at something down the table and watched as the others in the room nodded their heads in sage agreement. The new view of the large stone room, hung with tapestries, allowed her to note the presence of a hobbit, a dwarf, and two elves also in attendance; though none she recongized.

As Storm became entranced with the revelations of the Mirror, Jean felt a tingling sensation come over her body. A buzzing sound swamped her ears, till she realized the buzzing came from inside her head.

The image in the Mirror spun to reveal herself now standing atop some precipice or great height. "Definitely not so glamorous now," she whispered. A gaunt, bone weary picture of herself came into focus, her eyes milky white. Wind whipped around her, causing her to stagger as she raised tired, stick thin arms above her head. She staggered, and the reflection of the mirror pulled back enough to show strong arms snatch out to grab her thighs, steadying her. "Good catch." She realized she stood in the crenellation of a battlement atop an almost impossibly white wall.

The picture changed to show a hand walloping her back, causing water to gush out of her mouth, adding to the sodden mixture drenching her body which lay on some nameless sand spit somewhere.

Jean shook her head, hoping to clear the uncomfortable feelings affecting her. She turned to her tantric lessons, hoping the biofeedback techniques first taught her as a young teenager by the Professor would restore her equilibrium.

_((watch. learn. freedom.))_

After only a few seconds of viewing the scene abruptly faded and shifted to a vision of Galdor, dressed in martial splendor, but a look of pained sadness on his face. Storm watched as the elf delivered a formal bow and turned to walk off into an all encompassing gleam of white light. When the light faded she saw a sweaty, gasping, tired version of herself staring straight out at her.

"What now?" Her neck arched, a pained expression spasmed across her tight face, and then a look of relief slowly, slowly spread through her checks, an unknown tension ebbing away. Her head finally turned downward and she saw her lips move, speaking, then ending in a smile. "Awwwwww," Storm murmured with the sweetest tone. The mirror edged the view back slightly and the alternate Storm held a light mocha, olive skinned baby, with a brilliant white head of hair at her breast. The mirror darkened, and the reflection of the stars high above returned to the watery surface.

"That was incredible," whispered Storm. "I think I was a Queen, and I had a baby. A baby." Turning to look at her friend, she declared in an excited voice, "You really have to try this Jean."

With Storm's words, Jean gulped, the sensations afflicting her, had suddenly ended. "Woo, it seemed pretty intense from here. I'm not sure now ..."

_((do it. watch. learn.))_

"… but you look happy with the results, so why not. "

"Viewing the Mirror is both smart and perilous," interrupted Galadriel. "Things that are seen may be fair or evil, or may only appear so. It is through the lens of your wisdom that you should act upon which you will see. It does not provide answers, only possibilities. Tread careful before you decide Jean Grey."

A look of annoyance at being lectured to almost fought its way across the red head's face. Instead, she plastered on her most gracious smile. "I think we understand the implications," she condescendingly replied.

_(do you jean grey?)_

_(yes.)_

_((**yes!**))_

After a long pause, Galadriel said, "Very well, step forward and see what is to be seen."

"Scott!" she yelped. Scott Summers, dressed to perfection in a grey morning coat with tails, paisley vest, and a top hat waited beside the alter of a crowded church; Hank, Piotr, and an uncomfortable looking Logan, all clad similarly, stood next to him. Jean watched as a woman in a wedding dress, with long red air spilling out from beneath the veil covering her face, walked down the aisle toward her beloved. At the bride's side, accompanying her, Professor X rode in his wheelchair. Jean's heart beat so hard in her chest she barely noticed the return of the tingling sensations and the buzzing in her mind.

The image started rearranging itself. "No! Don't go yet!" pleaded Jean. Everything was different, except for the Professor. He was still there, but he stood, no wheelchair in sight, on a dark, storm swept hill in front of a rain drenched Jean. His hands beckoned at the other Jean. His lips moved, but no sound reached through the watery image to Jean's ears. The Professor's face took on a well known look of disapproval and sadness. 'Oh how well he'd always done _that_,' she thought. The Professor clutched at his head, and then his appearance started to waiver, became translucent, then disappeared all together. Jean saw her twin-self lift back her head and unleash a howl of anguish. Unconsciously Jean's mind flexed, invisible telekinetic hands grabbed at the pedestal in frustration, causing it to lean slightly. The water in the basin started swaying to the side, the edge of the meniscus of the liquid just barely missing the rim of the basin.

_(do not touch the water!)_

Jean unclenched her mind, allowing the pedestal to settle, the shifting water lost the vision, replaced by swirls of ill defined color until slowly a new, fiery image finally took hold. Her other her now stood before a mighty structure of stone, tall as a skyscraper, and at its top hovered a giant, unblinking red eye. Bolts of black and green energy erupted out of it, firing down at the personification of Jean, promptly sheathed in the astral fire of a burning bird of prey. An arm raised, and with it a flaming wing extended, enlarged into a shield like shape, to intercept and deflect the rays of death flung upon her. An instant later she was airborne, telekinetic wings flaring with a burning light, as they lifted her into the air to weave and dodge the unending assaults. Jean watch as pain burst upon her face as a bolt struck home, burning through her shields, to leave horrible burns on arms, legs, and torso. A sudden burst of speed and _Narwilinien_ rushed straight at the Eye, absorbing incredible punishment in the effort to close with the Enemy. She landed atop the tower and started to grow the size of her pyrokinetic avian alter ego till in hardly a blink of an eye it matched the dimension of the Eye. Fiery claws clutched at the magic fueled entity before it, pulling the Eye into the bird's grasp. Then the enormous beak started lashing out, rendering huge chunks of magical manna from the barely tangible orb. The tower beneath her began to shiver and quake, but at that moment the Mirror started to rearrange its reflection yet again.

_((excellent. (supreme satisfaction)))_

A frightfully scarred Jean, wore barely a stitch of clothing, while she sat on a throne of skulls and swords. A horde of misshapen goblins groveled at her feet and a spider, at least ten feet long, slithered silkily above her, on the upper lip of the massive chair, like a demented pet monkey or the twisted parody of a parrot. "No, no, no," she rasped aloud. 'How could I ever come to that?" she wondered, horrified.

_((take the mirror. __**take it! **__**take it! **__i will show you how.))_

A part of Jean's psyche, barely accessible to her conscious thoughts, now hummed at an identical frequency as the buzzing in her mind. This part of her, scarcely acknowledged and kept hidden out of fear, began to slither loose from the near inaccessible compartment buried deep within Jean. It ever so lightly caressed the edge of the flux created by the Mirror, tasting the indomitable will that supported, enabled, and accursedly protected an echo of a pure note of the Song secured within the enchantment. The thing coiled.

Galadriel's hand, one finger glittering like a comet, lashed out, cutting a swathe through the murky water inside the basin. The vision of the dark, perverted Jean immediately swept away, replaced by ... nothing. The buzzing which had built up like the waters behind a dam within Jean's mind evaporated instantaneously. The thing found itself snatched unwilling back to its bitter, hidden dungeon.

A tiny smile played itself over the Lady's lips. "My apologies Jean. I thought I should show you what happens when the water of the Mirror is touched. The images end. So sorry. Would you like to look again?"

"N .. n .. no, thank you," Jean stuttered, feeling sick to her stomach at the whipsaw of events that had been revealed to her. "I think I saw more than enough."

"Indeed," replied Galadriel.

"Storm, let's go back to the tent. I think I need to lie down."


	25. Chapter 25 - The River Calls

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 25 – The River Calls**

The curtained entrance to the pavilion turned slightly, revealing only a sliver of the night and two dour looking hobbits. They entered and trudged over to their sleeping mats. Frodo sat down on the edge of his with a pensive look on his face. Sam, with an evident amount of distress, threw himself down on his.

"Why so glum Sam? Frodo?" Gimli inquired.

Frodo simply shook his head no at the dwarf's question. Sam answered aloud. "There's trouble in the Shire. The gaffer's running off in the cold dark wearing nothing but his gown and night cap. Bywater is a fire. Giant wolves are racing up the Hill. A right, scary mess!"

Knowing nods broke out across those of the Fellowship inside the pavilion. "Ahhh, the Lady showed you her Mirror then," said a solemn Gimli. "I looked too and saw terrible things. I rode upon the sea. Worse," and with that Gimli's voice dropped and he peered around the room as if worried his words might be overheard, "I saw myself in a tunnel, so fearful I could scarce put a foot forward." Then he bellowed, "ME!? A dwarf! Afraid to walk beneath the Earth?!"

Boromir broke in, "I do not trust this Elvish Lady. What are _her_ purposes? Are we fools to trust her so?"

"Say no ill of the Lady Galadriel," interjected Aragorn fiercely. "She and this land hold no evil, unless one brings it here from within his heart."

Anger at the implied slight burst upon the large man's face. "Of course you would defend her, wouldn't you Dunedain?" sneered Boromir.

"Oh be quiet," declared Gimli loudly, "the both of you. I saw beauty too, not just ill. There were glittering caves and a field of slain rakhas. Our lives are what we hammer out of them. The Mirror offers but a glimmer of the possible shapes we can forge when we take our iron out of the fire."

"Then why is the Shire falling all to pieces?" Sam cried. "I couldn't cause all that to happen."

"Of course not," came Jean's reassuring voice. "But as you are strong enough to follow Frodo on his quest, so too will you be strong enough to face whatever you find when you return home."

"Face your fears and embrace the happy times. That is the lesson I took from the Mirror," said Storm.

"No," spoke Rogue sullenly. "Take nothing from the Mirror. Look at you, morose and fighting with each other. Boromir, what did you see?"

"I … I saw my father. He stood atop the Tower of Ecthelion in great despair. And he yelled at me in his Council Hall. Other things too I saw, of which I will not speak."

"See. It's all a trap. Jean did you look?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell us what you saw?"

For an instant Jean's eyes darted to Storm's. "I think, I think I will keep what I saw to myself."

"Of course you will," replied Rogue with heat and scorn. "None of us is a thousands year old elf filled with magic and oh so great amounts of queenly wisdom. The Mirror is a game we don't even know the rules for. This Lady Galadriel …"

"Yes? What about me?" came a sweet, melodious voice. The Lady and Lord of Lorien entered the pavilion, immediately followed by Gandalf, and then by Legolas.

"Welcome," responded Aragorn, giving the visitors a bow. "We were speaking of your gift of the Mirror."

"Which you choose not to accept," responded the Ladym with a smile on her lips.

"The glimpse granted me in my youth, lady, appears to have sufficed. That gift has not yet run its course."

"We come," announced the Lord Celeborn, "because all who would accept the Lady's offer have done so. Tomorrow is the day for the Ring Bearer, and those who would accompany him, to return to the Quest, to journey toward Mordor and Orodruin. Any who wish may remain in Lothlorien, at least for a while. Peace you have felt here, but I warn you, we of the Galadhrim will face war ere long. This haven will struggle against the strong arm of the Enemy, to contest the guardianship of the Golden Wood. So think before you answer my question. Whither shall you go?"

"Forward I think," Gandalf slyly espoused.

"They are resolved," confirmed Galadriel.

"Yes. I see that too. But where exactly shall each go?" mused Celeborn. "And by what methods? The Great River looms in front of you, moving ever southward, widening, passing between Minas Morgul and Minas Tirith. Have you decided a course?"

"We have not," murmured the wizard.

"To Minas Tirith," declared Boromir, talking over any further words Gandalf may have intended to speak. "My way lies homeward. My father, Gondor, require succor. I beg my companions," and the large man's voice took on the most plaintive tone any had ever heard from him, "aid me. Give yourselves to Gondor, the bulwark against the Darkness."

"Certainly aid shall come to the shining white walls of your home," soothed Gandalf. "But many are the paths for accomplishing that. We are not at the point where we need to split asunder. But let us tonight talk about what paths we can foresee might need to be taken."

"It is not for me to urge one road over another, but let me offer some small help if it agreeable to you," Celeborn suggested kindly. Taking silence for concurrence, the Lord of Lorien continued. "Let us furnish you with boats, so you may use the Great River to speed your travels. And as there are no bridges now over the Anduin, when the time comes for the Ring Bearer to strike for the eastern shore, a means to do so will be available."

"Boats," muttered Gimli. "The Sea already prepares to mock me."

"They shall be small and light," added Galadriel, "so you may carry them where the waters turn too quick or rough for navigation. And I believe you have those among you with some skill in their handling." And the lady nodded toward Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas.

"I too have garnered some skills in Middle Earth more usefull than the enjoyment of pipe-weed," declared Gandalf with a wry smile. "We thank you for your generosity. Now if you will forgive us, as we depart on the morrow, we must converse upon the way forward and gather up our meager possessions in preparation."

"My kin shall help you in the morning with provisions and such before guiding you to the water's edge by the sun's apex," announced Celeborn.

As the Lord and Lady turned to leave, Galadriel said, "Rest peacefully my friends. Do not linger long with thoughts of the road ahead. Perhaps the road you each shall tread is already laid before you like a gossamer thread. Good night."

* * *

As if Galadriel had already seen of what she spoke, the Company spent only a small while discussing the possible ends of the journey. Boromir again begged Frodo and the four ladies to come to Minas Tirith. "With your powers, Mordor and her allies would be crushed trying to cross the Anduin. Then we could march safely through the Mountains of Shadows to dispose of the Ring." Aragorn admitted, "Before the journey is over, I shall come to Minas Tirith. I know this in my heart." Storm asked, "Is anything to be done with Saruman? And what of Rohan? What good is everything if we get stabbed in the back?" Rogue questioned, "Who the hell has any idea of how to sneak into Mordor?" To which Gandalf, Aragorn, and Boromir all admitted varying degrees of knowledge. Sam declared, "I'm going where Mr. Frodo goes." Kitty wondered, "Why wouldn't we stick with Frodo? The only reason we're here is because he asked us to come with him." "Give me some orcs to kill and I'll be happy wherever I go," Gimli proclaimed to any who listened. Gandalf limited his remarks to stating the need to travel down the west bank of the Anduin and reassuring everyone that Frodo and Sam would not travel alone, but without declaring who would accompany them. Jean and Legolas stayed silent, staring at each speaker. Frodo too did not speak, but watched everyone intently, carefully weighing all he saw and heard. Boromir he found worrisome. Gandalf, by lack of a plan, unnerved him. Jean took his breath away the one time her hawk like gaze a lit on him.

When talk ended, each member of the Fellowship began to gather the slender goods they had carried into Lorien and any tidbits acquired in the month, less one day, they resided on the hill of Caras Galadhon.

Legolas announced, "Worry not about victuals, tomorrow the Galadhrim will provide us with enough travel fare to see us through the next step of our journey."

"Oh cram. Lovely, lovely cram. How I struggle to hold you tight. My belt keeps you in my embrace, before you can slip away," Gimli sang to himself in a soft bass.

"Mr. Frodo, can Fatty come on my boat? I think he'll do best if I'm there to keep him calm on the River."

Aragorn overheard the kindly hobbit, and chuckled softly. "Sam, I fear there will likely be bare enough room for the eleven of us. Fatty will need to stay behind."

"What?!"

* * *

Haldir, who the Fellowship had only seen occasionally the last month, led a contingent of elves, all of whom had some familiarity with Westron, into the pavilion in the morning, bringing gifts of food and clothing to the travelers. Sam and the four mutants recognized the thin, light brown cakes as a type of _lembas_, which Glorfindel had shared with them during their journey between Bree and Rivendell. An elf informed them that a single cake would keep a person on his or her feet for a hard day's walk. Kitty's pride shone when the elves unwrapped hooded cloaks to give to each of them. She had assisted Galadriel and her ladies, if only a little, at their looms in the making of the garments. They were warm, yet light, and most impressively seemed to alter their color to match the hues of whatever background they moved through. After a final, simple meal under the pavilion, the party picked up their packs and bid a fond farewell to their pleasant abode beneath the mighty Mallyrn of Caras Galadhon.

Sam, sniffling, whispered into Fatty's ear, making the lone sorrowful goodbye of the morning next to the fountain beneath the Lord and Lady's flet, "I'll miss ya boy. You done good getting us here to these elves. They'll treat you right. Master Haldir promised he'd look after you. Not many a pony can say he lived with elves. Try not to miss me too much. I'll be back ta get ya if I can." The kindly hobbit placed a last kiss on the pony's muzzle, stroked his neck once more, then gave him a carrot. "I'm ready now. Let's go," he declared.

The Fellowship walked silently under the trees, following Haldir as he took the southern slope down the hill to the wide avenue which curved and stretched to the outer wall and the white bridge. Passing over the bridge they left the city of the elves, eventually taking a path weaving between Mallyrn, Oaks, and Elms that led east and southward, toward the distant hum of running water. After an easy ten mile hike over rolling woodland and the occasional flower spotted lea, the party passed through the opening of a tall green wall and came upon a shining lawn sparkling with golden elanor blossoms. The lawn ended in a tongue of land which divided the mighty, churning Anduin to the left and the glistening, calm Silverlode to the right. Upon the tongue many a boat rested by the waters and a gazebo sat, populated by many elves, dressed in vibrant livery.

"You did not think the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel would let us leave without a goodbye, did you?" asked Gandalf, a warm smile splitting his face.

As if to prove the wizard's very words, the two great elves strode out from beneath the shaded resting place to greet them. "We have come to speed your journey with blessings from our fair land," the lady said. "And to offer you a parting feast here before the flowing waters that will bear you far from our sight," added the lord. The pair then guided the company to where four grey boats, empty except for paddles, lay on a small sheet of golden sand. Haldir and the other elves that accompanied their walk that morning took the companions' packs and stowed them in the slender, but strongly built vessels. More packages of food, and coils of rope too, were laden into the hulls, till just space enough to fit the travelers was left open.

While the Fellowship ate the amazing spread of food splayed across the tables beneath the ornate gazebo, the Lady Galadriel picked up a harp and began playing. "_I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leave of gold there grew: Of wind I sang …_" Celeborn spoke to those who would listen of the course of the Anduin as it stretched south between the Brown Lands and the Wold, through the flinty moors of Emyn Muil, past the island of Tol Brandir, and over the cataracts of Rauros. Words of warning were exchanged on how far the evil in Dol Guldur might range and guesses made on whether orcs or fell men had begun to issue forth from the Black Gate. Frodo paid little attention to these discussions, though he did shiver once when he overheard Legolas speak of the flying creatures apparently now available to the Black Riders. Primarily the Ring Bearer focused his mind on the beauty of Galadriel and her voice, strong, but kind.

* * *

Frodo shook himself alert when the Lady laid aside her harp and stood up, taking a chalice from a nearby maiden. "Now is the time for the Farewell Cup," she declared, and walked to each of the Fellowship that they might drink from it. When all of the eleven had drunk, she offered it next to Celeborn, then finally she herself partook of it. "Before you depart, there are gifts which the Galadhrim offer you as tokens of our respect for the journey you take on behalf of all who wish to live freely upon Middle Earth. For the leader of your company, a trifle, to help ease your mind when it is weary."

Gandalf chuckled with delight and appreciation as a water proof pouch filled to capacity with pipe weed was handed to him. Celeborn turned to Kitty and presented her with a silver gilded belt. Before allowing her to wear it, he demonstrated how it could uncoil into a rope and the buckle become a grappling hook.

The Lady stepped forward next to present Boromir a belt of gold. Legolas received from Celeborn a stout bow of the Galadhrim, strung with elf-hair, and carrying a pull far greater than that offered by his own bow, crafted in Mirkwood.

"For the gardener," announced Galadriel, handing over to Sam a plain grey box embossed with only a silver rune of G. "Within is earth from my orchard. When you see your home again, plant a fresh with a sprinkle of it and few will be the gardens in Middle Earth that bloom to match which you till." Sam reddened with embarrassment and could only bow his thanks to the Lady.

Rogue accepted from Celeborn a crescent shaped blade. "His name is Ithil Fein, Moonbeam perhaps you would say. A host of glam and other dread beasts it has slain since first it was forged long ago in ancient Doriath." Rogue grinned in appreciation of the gift.

"Gimli, son of Gloin, it is said nothing made by hand may surpass the work of dwarves, so our gift to you is not one of craft," declared Galadriel and she began to unbraid one of her long tresses.

"No, no," stammered the dwarf. "I could not ask for such a gift, it … it surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine."

The Lady smiled as she continued uncoiling a tress. "I spoke of the skill of your hands, rather should I have about your tongue. Your gallant words reassure me that the gift is well chosen." With that three long golden hairs were plucked and laid in Gimli's hand. "These words too I give thee, Gimli son of Gloin, if hope should not fail, then your hands shall flow with gold, yet gold shall have no hold over you."

"In thanks I pledge unto you that so long as I breath shall there be good will between the hard Mountain and the airy Wood."

"Ororo," spoke Celeborn, garnering the mutant's attention. "You march off to battle, for which you are well prepared. For you, we give the gift of life." The Lord placed an intricately embroidered bag into Storm's hands. "Within are special plants picked by the Galadhrim and draughts brewed by my lady wife that may, for some on your journey, prove the narrow difference between life and death. Ask of your friend the Ranger if you have questions about their efficacy."

"For the heir of Elendil, may the sword that has been made anew never break," declared Celeborn as he passed to Aragorn an elegant sheath upon which in gems was written the name of his blade, Anduril.

The Son of Arathorn bowed his head, "I thank you."

"Another item may yet lighten your heart," said Galadriel. "It was left with me should you ever again happen to pass through this land." The Lady drew out a silver brooch upon which lay a vibrant green stone of many facets. "From my hand to my daughter's and from her hand to my granddaughter's. Arwen wanted you to have this as a token of hope. Take it! And take too the name foretold for you, Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil!"

Aragorn accepted the gift and pinned it upon his tunic close to his heart. As he spoke, all who gazed upon him noted that a majestic presence had entered his stance, making him appear taller, broader of shoulder, and more regal of bearing. "O Lady of Lorien, of whom sprung Celebrian and Arwen Evenstar, what more could be asked for than your blessing. I thank you."

"Jean Grey, you wear above your breast the image of a bird of prey. Not all of life is harsh. We offer you jewelry befitting the peace of Lorien," said the Lord of the Galadhrim as he handed to the red head a golden necklace lattice supporting many small crystals. "Within each small gem is captured a particular, small token of the Golden Wood; be it wind, earth, water, leaf, bud, petal, or light. May the serenity of our home stay with you always."

"And you, Frodo, bearer of the Ring," said Galadriel, "who will travel into a darkness greater than any dare to imagine, we have prepared this." The Lady held up a slender crystal phial, which glittered as it moved into the hobbit's hands. "In here is light of Earendil's star, may it brighten you in dark places, when all other lights, even hope, have dimmed."

Frodo simply bowed to the Lady and the Lord, finding no words to say unto them.

* * *

Celeborn and Galadriel led them back to their boats. All was ready for departure. Standing on the sand, Kitty asked, "Well who goes where?"

"A sharp question child, requiring answers," responded Gandalf rubbing at his beard in contemplation. "The best four with paddle or oar should each perch at a stern. Legolas, I suspect you the steadiest, take Frodo and Sam with you." The tiniest of smiles edged the elf's lips and he nodded agreement at the wizard's suggestion.

"Boromir, why don't you have Rogue and Gimli row with you." Boromir and Rogue beamed at the choice, pleased with the pairing.

"I take the front. I am neither cargo nor ballast," declared the dwarf to the Company's amusement. "And I surely don't want to see Rogue turning to moon over my head every other minute."

"Storm and Kitty, go with Aragorn. Jean, please come with me. I suspect I shall have need of your mind to help propel me when my old arms tire."

As they climbed in, Haldir warned them, "Go slowly at first, till you gain the feel of these boats. They might tip if you treat them poorly."

Elves with long poles helped propel them off the sand and into the calm waters of the Silverlode, reflecting the afternoon sun.

"You will not travel far before you pierce past the veil of Lorien; the harshness of winter will come back upon you then. Farewell!" shouted Celeborn.

"Farewell!" bade Galadriel.

"Farewell!" cheered all the elves watching their departure.

The Company shouted their goodbyes as well. They paddled slowly, learning the tricks of the craft. Slowly the Silverlode passed out into the current of the Anduin. The figures of the elves grew distant and smaller. But before they passed wholly out of sight, the whisper of song could be heard floating on the wind. Fair were the words, of any elvish tongue unknown to any of the Fellowship, save perhaps Gandalf, but little comfort did they bring as the world around them slipped from vibrant green to dull greys and cold browns.

"_Ai! Laurie lantar lassi surinen, yeni unotime ve ramar aldaron! Yeni ve linte yuldar avanier mi oromardi lisse-miruvoreva …_ "

* * *

The four small boats floating on the Great River steered around a bend and though the sun still hung high in the sky the light of Lorien seemed to dim till finally it lay completely hidden. Sadness for a time gripped the heart of each of the Fellowship as the peace provided them the last month under the veil of the Lady began to ebb. Some, such as Gimli, Sam, and Kitty expressed their loss by crying. Others like Aragorn, Gandalf, and Legolas choose to remember the fleeing sensation with something akin to nostalgia. Boromir and Rogue felt uneasy, not understanding the feelings sweeping through them, so they focused on what made them happy, thinking of each other. For Frodo, the passing of Galadriel's grace returned the full weight of the Ring to his slender hobbit shoulders, and it had never before felt so heavy, causing him to slump in his seat. Jean grew faint, stopped paddling, and rested her head between her knees.

"Jean? Are you well?" asked Gandalf solicitously.

"No," she mumbled, just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the river. "Feel sick. Head hurts ... Might throw up ... I hear a buzzing, feel a buzzing ... unnatural."

_((free me.))_

Jean caused the boat to sway dangerously as she leaned over the edge to wretch up much of her lunch. Gandalf quickly leaned in counterpoint and paddled furiously to keep them from tipping over and spinning. Once he recovered control of the boat, he spoke, "You feel the effects of leaving Lorien and returning to the less orderly nature of the world. I feel it too. We all do to one level or another."

"Ungh." _Urp_. More of the contents of Jean's stomach emptied into the Anduin.

_(perchance you were provided a remedy. find the gift.)_

_(hunh? … what?)_

_(the necklace, put on the necklace. _**[image of a shimmering golden necklace of many strands, with small crystals of various colors connecting between the strands to make a lattice]**)

A shaking hand rummaged inside the folds of a pack, pulling this bit and that bit out until it clutched the fair bands and crystals of elven craft. Jean tried to clasp it around her neck, but the pendant of the winged bird she'd affixed to the breast of her tunic kept snagging at the necklace, keeping her from completing the circle. At last frustrated, she removed the gold jewelry she'd created months before in Rivendell out of the broken boulder from the Bruinen.

_((no!))_

"Ahhhhh," Jean sighed, settling the gift presented her by Celeborn firmly around her neck and upper chest. "That feels better. Mind if I rest for a while Gandalf?"

"Pish, little bird. The river does most of the work. And since we'll likely travel into the night, time enough for you to aid me later."

* * *

Saruman lowered his arms and from the Pinnacle of Orthanc gazed far off in the night sky, between the summits of the southern reaches of the Misty Mountains, out to the West and the Sea. Every night for the last three months he had climbed hundreds of steps to this perch, to spend an hour reinforcing the enchantments of air and water he conjured to keep Cirdan and his ships enclosed at the Havens. Tonight, for the first time, he had felt a power emanate from the Gulf of Luhn to contest his dominion of the southern seas and skies. From the beginning, the Lord of Many Colours had thought it unlikely that his former partners in the White Council would try to send the Ring to the West, but to placate his temporary, amorphous ally he had joined in the plan to bottle the Shipwright up. But before the start of the New Year word had trickled in of a particularly meddlesome hobbit's journey from Rivendell to Lindon; as well as of elves skulking about to no good below the Gwathlo. This had tempered his ire some at these nightly expenditures, and had even intrigued him enough to send wargs and their riders to scout as far as the Grey One's precious Shire. The unusual disturbances a month ago about Moria had smelled of _That One's_ trickery and tilted his opinion back to that of the Havens being a mere distraction. But now? 'Why after all this time would Cirdan finally seek to contest me? And _him_ in Mordor?' pondered Saruman.

Many possibilities bounced around his crafty mind as he made the slow procession back inside his black tower. Regardless, too few reports were coming back from the five hundred wargs sent north, something was up, whether the main stratagem of those seeking to thwart him or simply a mirage to distract him; and Saruman needed answers. "Ilgrik!" Curunir shouted upon returning to the Receiving Hall.

"Yes Lord?" hissed the Uruk-hai on duty.

"Send birds to the Axe Wolf of the Wildmen. Tell him he is to take his shieldmen in a raid over the Baranduin."

"Lord, he is the furthest and newest of the Wildmen chiefs to pledge to you. The Baranduin is far."

"You think he would defy _my_ order," rumbled Saruman ominously, displeased at his servant's insinuation.

"Nooooo Lord. But he might think a farm burned or a sheep raped a great victory and reporting such to you, return home, satisfied with his honor."

"Hhmmmnn, you may be correct. Tell me, which Hands prepare to next guard the Isen?"

"The Stone Fists, the Hammers, and the White Claws."

"Pick the two most ready. Let us see if a thousand Uruk-hai will stiffen the spines of this Dunland chief's warriors. Tell the Axe Wolf they will reach him in ten days; and I expect woe and ruin to be inflicted on these hobbits Gandalf is so fond of."

* * *

Frodo woke the first morning away from Lorien to find a thin sheet of snow on the ground. The night before, as clouds began to cover the moon, they'd pulled up their boats on the west bank of the Anduin among a small woodland of grey barked trees. When Frodo poked his head out from beneath the tarp he'd slept under, he saw Sam and Boromir puttering with a fire and making a breakfast of porridge with raisins. Once served breakfast, a distinct unease descended upon the hobbit, for each time he looked up from his bowl, he found the large man from Gondor staring at him. It unsettled him enough he reassuringly patted his tunic several times to feel the comforting lump made by the Ring where it hung from the necklace around his neck.

As the Fellowship broke camp and made its way to the boats, snow and ice crackling under feet on the sands of the river bank, Boromir spoke up, "Frodo, why don't you switch with Gimli and ride with me today?"

"What? Want to get rid of me already?" burst an agitated Gimli.

"No, just you became such friends with Legolas in Lorien, I thought you might …"

"No thank you Boromir," interrupted Frodo. "I'm quite happy staying with Sam. You keep Gimli."

"I'm an unwanted prize now, am I? Well I shan't ride with either of you today."

"Come ride with me Gimli," offered Aragorn. "We'll pass over Kitty so Boromir will have two children to nursemaid today."

The dwarf snorted with amusement at the Ranger's jab.

"Hey, not nice," declared Kitty.

"Agreed," Gimli happily assented. "But I don't ride in the middle."

Storm sighed and shook her head slightly at the seemingly petty politics. "Oh very well. I will."

* * *

The second day on the Anduin was much like the first, just enough paddling to gain a better feel for the elven built crafts and to keep them pointed in a southerly direction while the current did most of the work in moving them on. The western shore periodically presented signs of life: copses, waterfowl, and the occasional otter, even though it was January and the heart of winter. The far off snow capped heights of the Misty Mountains would inch in and out of sight depending on how the river bent or the mood of the clouds. However, the view of the eastern shore offered little beside withered scrub or grass poking up through patches of melted snow. One monotony the Fellowship did relish was seeing no sign of an enemy. Not that day, or the next, or the day after that. If anything, during the fourth day afloat, they noted the east becoming an even more bleak and muted landscape, offering only the sight of snow, dust, and weather beaten stones. They had come to the edge of the Brown Lands that stretched near a hundred leagues till the river would bring them to the slopes of the Emyn Muil.

The fifth day saw them paddle hard to get through the Anduin's rough confluence with the Limlight, which had started its course in mysterious, primeval Fangorn. Boromir and Aragorn pointed out to those who would listen that there, on the western shore, began the lands of the Rohirrim, mighty Rohan. Much speculation was subsequently spent debating whether the proud Riders of the Riddermark still clove to their ancient alliance with Gondor or had perchance become the cat's-paws of the traitorous Saruman. Storm grunted with typical relief as they drew ashore that night to make camp. After the minor readjustments to the seating arrangements at the start of second day, everyone stayed put in their boat of choice. The boat middle's lacked a seat and with Gimli hogging the front, by the end of each day's journey Storm's uncomfortably cramped body always yearned for the unkinking of standing up and walking on shore. The snow haired mutant wished for once Frodo would accept Boromir's daily offer to travel with him if for nothing more than it might offer her aching back and sore bottom an opportunity to graduate to a cushier seat.

* * *

"Back to the shore," yelled Legolas, as he heeded his own advice and pulled his paddle in close to the boat, causing it to turn to the west. While all immediately heeded his call, trusting his warning implicitly, the other ten members of the company quickly shifted their heads to and fro to see what necessitated the unexpected order.

In a quieter voice, once he was sure the other boats had followed his lead, Legolas called out, "A winged beast, following the course of the Anduin south."

A chill went through many of them. 'A Nazgul,' they all thought in unison.

"How far away?" questioned Gandalf calmly, paddling strongly toward the bank.

"Near the Limlight."

"Three leagues off, maybe four," said Aragorn.

"It's using the river to navigate," Storm announced, causing Gandalf to nod his head in agreement.

"We are mostly likely not its target, but we may become so," the wizard declared. "We shall beach the boats."

"There's no cover," barked Boromir, the bank only a hundred feet away.

"Calmly, we have time," Gandalf reassured.

"It might turn aside," hoped Sam.

(((_put on the Ring!_)))

As the shore approached, Jean put down her paddle and tugged at her elven necklace as she prepared to hop out. "I don't like the feel of this," she muttered nervously. Then the sound of sand scrapping the bottom of the boats drowned out her ramblings.

"Pull them up. Pull them up. Farther, farther," Gandalf ordered. "How far now Legolas?"

"Two leagues."

"Ok, now what?" Rogue asked.

"Flip the boats," ordered Aragorn. "We can hide beneath them."

"Wait!" shouted Storm. "If it spots us, we want it to see what we want it to think it sees. Boromir, Gandalf, grab Galadriel's cloaks from your packs. Aragorn, put your hood up. Then we flip the boats and the rest of us climb under."

"Alas, I did not take one," Gandalf said somewhat ashamedly. To Storm's accusing eyes, he responded sheepishly, "It wasn't in grey."

"Well then you go under too. We need a fourth crouched outside, we have four boats." Storm looked back and forth between Kitty and Rogue for a second. "Kitty, you're it. Keep your hood up at all times."

"But …" Kitty hesitated, more than a little scared.

"I see Storm's plan," announced Aragorn, as he started flipping over his boat. "Legolas will have his bow. If it comes close, he will shoot at it. Seeing 'four elves' here with four small boats will be unusual and worth taking note of, but perhaps not so unusual it will risk the hide of its flying fell beast to get closer once arrows start pelting it."

(((_put on the Ring!_)))

"So we will be under the boats?" asked Frodo somewhat a quiver.

"Yes," replied Gandalf reassuringly. "And doing so very, very quietly."

"Durin's Folk do not hide from their enemies," said Gimli defiantly.

"Do it!" hissed Storm angrily as she dropped to the ground and grabbed Sam to pull him under a boat with her.

* * *

Freezing winds, near as chill as the corporeal remnants of his body, embraced him while he soared thousands of feet above the ground. His reptilian like brain surveyed the rapidly moving landscape beneath him and something akin to pleasure grew in some remote corner of his mind. As a child, thousands of years earlier, Berumor had frequented the coastal heights around the Haven of Umbar in order to stare down at the busy roads, sleepy fishing villages, and sails plying the waters; and imagine all that fell within his sight were his to command. The thirst to make something of himself had led to his first dabbling in the arts and the unintended blood sacrifice of his family. Years, decades on the run, abasing himself in wretched apprenticeships to whichever Black Numenorean master or witch would take in a starveling runaway with a hint of the gift. He suffered through the petty spitefulness, the intentional cruelty, the ritual disfigurements to learn whatever nugget of truth could be gleaned from the weak enchantments most had practiced; and then moving on again, but never before he'd had his revenge. He took a moment of delight remembering a few of his sweet, gore drenched goodbyes, only to fade back to the first time someone came to him, a desert scum of the Far Harad, to ask for a dark favor. In hardly a score of years he had dozens of nomad septs scurrying to his will, yet it failed to quench him. All he remembered of his oasis sanctuary was the heat and the scents; smells of dust, sweat, dung, and the occasional exotic spice. Finally he had followed the shadow whispers north, seeking a darkness strong enough to smote at the very world. And in Mordor, he was offered a ring. Berumor shivered in ecstasy, reliving the first instant of pain and love as it slide down his finger. Smells, heat, suffering, bodily pain, learning; none of these things mattered, not for millennia, only the Ring. Only the Ring.

(((_find me!_)))

The wyvern shrieked; jolting his consciousness to full concentration on the now. He felt a chaotic, avian thought try to pass some information to him through their psychic bond. He gazed along the Anduin, trying to see whether the Fell Beast was only interested in a meal or if its keen eyes had discerned something significant. Having passed the Limlight, the time had nearly come on the flight from Dol Guldur to stop heading due south and begin to veer west towards Isengard.

_(what?)_

More useless chaos. He sank more of his strength into their bond.

_(show me!)_

The beast squealed in pain as his control stabbed deeper into its mind.

(**[image of the river bank and four boulders between which rests four grey bushes, one of which blooms yellow at the top.]**)

'No,' the Nazgul thought, interpreting his mount's mental picture for a second and a third time. 'Elves. And far from Lorien!' Again he raked the creature's mind, this time to make it descend toward the very interesting targets ahead. 'Why?' he pondered. 'What errand of her are they on?' The beast glided low enough he now saw through the elven skill at deceit to spy four small boats and four elves of varying heights. He commanded a wide turn to allow him to check for any hidden surprises. Upon seeing none he clutched tightly to the enormous leathery neck and commenced a dive. Though they were elves, and unlikely to be affected, by habit he extended his icy, dark aura.

* * *

Jean breathed the close air of the overturned boat, her hands twitched nervously at the strands of the necklace; shifting it around and around her neck, nearly saying a silent prayer with each jewel as it brushed past her fingertips.

(((_take the Ring!_)))

"What did you say?" Jean asked in an edgy tone.

"I said I'm scared too," replied Rogue with a husky whisper.

"Who said I was scared," the red head snapped.

"Jesus, Jean, don't bite my head off."

"Sorry." Jean took a deep breath, and ran a bio feedback program to steady herself. "Who did Frodo go with?"

"Gandalf I think." Silence. "You, uhm, feel anything out there?"

"No. Didn't think it was smart to try." Jean laying on her side, head near the front of the boat, decided to curl her body around to get a better look at Rogue in the muted light available beneath the overturned boat.

"Oh." Unable to abide more than ten seconds of silence, Rogue asked petulantly, "Why didn't Storm pick me?"

"You mean to be out there? Scared?"

"Yeah!" Rogue challenged defiantly.

Jean chuckled quietly while her fingers kept spinning the necklace. "Boromir."

"Boromir?"

"Yes, we didn't need you distracting each other in a tight situation," said Jean. Unbeknownst to herself, she had abruptly stopped turning the necklace and began to prod at one of the jewels.

"Why would we distract each other?"

"C'mon Rogue, we all know."

"But we're not … I mean, we haven't. We can't," Rogue stammered.

"Like each other. Spend all your spare time with each other. None of us are stupid, nor does anybody think you are doing anything wrong, so relax." The jewel, containing a drip of water from the fountain atop the hill of Caras Galadhon, worked itself off the clasp securing it to the strands of the golden necklace, and fell to the earth.

((_ahhhh!_))

Rogue turned red with embarrassment. "I thought only Kitty knew."

Catching Rogue's fragile mood, Jean decided not to tease her. "I said it's alright. Besides, you're probably a good influence on him."

"Really?"

"Yes, definitely. He's a total guy, and can be a little, uhm, brash. So when we get travelling again, see if you can use some of that influence to get him to ease off Frodo. He's starting to creep the poor hobbit out with all his Minas Tirith this and Minas Tirith that talk."

"Ok." Silence, till Rogue again pestered Jean. "Think you could do a quiet listen? Being stuck in here blind is killing me."

Jean thought it over for a second. "Ok. Hold on." The red head lowered her barriers just enough to passively listen for any high powered thoughts zinging openly through the telepathic aether.

_((terror)(terror)(terror)(terror)(terror)(terror)) _

"Shit!" shrieked Jean, slamming up her shields, having been nearly overwhelmed by the strength of the brutal emotions cutting her psychically.

(((_take the Ring!_)))

((_i will!_ (_satisfaction_)))

* * *

"Do you know the full range of this bow?" Aragorn asked in Sindarin.

"No, as yet I have only slain a few rabbits and swans with it."

"I have seen the faithful warriors of Lorien bring down game at two hundred rangar with such a bow as yours."

Legolas grunted in acknowledgement, as he peered from a kneeling position behind the hull of one of their four boats up at the rapidly approaching winged Nazgul.

Boromir looked fit to burst for wanting to make a suggestion to the elf, but the Ranger had said that to maintain their disguise in the face of the enemy they should only speak Sindarin; which of course limited any contribution he or the girl could provide.

They all watched silently as the enormous flying beast continued to glide south along the course of the Anduin, then suddenly started a descent.

"We are discovered," announced Legolas. "He watches the ground for us."

The Nazgul pulled up its winged mount around five hundred feet about the earth, then started a wide circle around them. Apparently satisfied with whatever it discovered, the Nazgul dove the beast right at them. Legolas immediately stood and notched an arrow. The elf's inner mind saw the currents of air above him as much as his body felt them blow across his face. He lightning quick judged the velocity and angle of his prey. He pulled the bow. A tiny portion of his mind acknowledged the psychic malevolence that swept down at him and fell to pieces upon contact with his radiant inner spirit. He waited another moment, arm taught, eye unblinking.

Twang. Twang. Twang. The mallorn bow and elf-hair drawstring hummed with each release of nearly two hundred pounds of tension. In less than three seconds three shafts sped into the sky.

The Fell Beast jerked to the left to avoid the first slightly misaimed arrow, exactly as Legolas intended, thus revealing more of its silhouette.

Thunk. The second arrow stuck in the leather strap securing the Nazgul's saddle.

"Aaarwaaukkkkkkk," shrieked the creature as the third arrow penetrated the wing membrane just below the right shoulder nub. Even as the sound of pain reached his elven ears, Legolas took aim and let fly with another arrow, then another, and another. Twang. Twang. Twang.

The Nazgul pulled hard at the reins to sharpen the avian monster's turn away from the Fellowship. Spurs or a command of some sort must have been used too, as the immense wings pounded at the air to carry it further away from the accurate barrage of barbs. The second trio of which found a point stuck in the Nazgul's thigh and another in the thing's chest near its neck.

Kitty felt the paralysis leave her and she shouted "Yippee," as she wrapped her arms around Legolas.

"Quietly, everyone" spoke Aragorn softly, gently prying the ecstatic girl off of the elf. "Legolas has driven the Ringwraith of Sauron off, but stay under the boats till it is out of sight.


	26. Chapter 26 - Dangerous Conversations

**LOTR X-(wo)men Style: A Mutant Fellowship. Part 26 – Dangerous Conversations**

When the boat lifted off of him and Frodo, Gandalf popped up and scanned the horizon as he set his grey cap back atop his head. Satisfied, he turned to his companions and barked, "No fool like an old fool, and that I surely am. I thought too little of the enemy's ability to spot us in daylight and too much in the skill of our elven garb to disguise us. Well, I have been proven wrong. Word is already spreading of our presence, even if they do not know the true or full meaning of our presence." He dropped a hand to the gunwale next to him, took a grip, and started pulling hard. "Get the boats back into the water, quickly, quickly everyone. With luck, we will travel the rest of today and then by moonlight to place some distance between us and this debacle. After we rest, we will resume our ways of only traveling at night."

"Won't it be dangerous to be on the boats in the dark?" asked Storm as she joined the wizard in dragging his boat.

"Not so much. The river stays slow till close to the rapids of Sarn Gebir. How far is that Aragorn?"

The Ranger shrugged his non-carrying shoulder while he and Gimli toted a boat between them back to the riverbank. "I have not travelled that part of the Anduin. Maybe five days from here, certainly no more than six or seven."

"When we get closer we will make sure your boat takes the lead then," announced Gandalf. "I want a dwarf's keen eye to guide us where light shines sparsely. Come, come! No dawdling, we must be off!"

Boromir and Legolas each took a side of the craft holding Frodo's gear. Kitty and Rogue took a step toward the last boat only to find it suddenly hovering over the grass by itself, to which they cried, "Jean!" "Showoff!"

Within minutes their crafts shoved off the gravelly shore back into the broad river. They paddled steadily for more than two hours. Except when the occasional shoal forced them toward the middle of the channel, the Fellowship tried to not stray too far from the western shore in case they needed cover quickly. As dusk settled, they let the current primarily move them as they broke out _Lembas_ for the first time, aside from the occasional snack by Gimli. They travelled through the night as Gandalf had hoped, no interruptions other than brief calls to nature. When the first glimmers of grey and pink touched the eastern sky, Legolas pointed out to the group an eyot near the western shore which all four boats promptly turned toward to make a landing. With boats pulled deep within a blanket of still standing, waist high marsh weeds, a cold camp of no fire nor even pipeweed was made in the chill January morning. More elf bread was eaten, the only nourishment taken, before the eleven companions draped themselves in blankets and settled heads down on rolled up cloaks or travel bags.

* * *

The boats coasted, dragged slowly along by the sleepy current of the Anduin. The previous night's exertions had tired everyone and after the first few hours paddling, the consensus developed among the four boats to let the river do most of the work for them. Conversations, when they occurred, happened in hushed tones and whispers.

"I wouldn't want to play poker with you," Jean told Gandalf.

"What's poker?"

"A betting game with cards. It involves a lot of bluffing to keep the other players from guessing whether your hand is strong or weak. A great player can sometimes get everyone to fold despite holding a poor set of cards. You'd be a natural."

"I'd think the same could be said of a certain red head with unusual talents of the mind."

"Ha! You're probably right. But even with any extra acuity, I'm flummoxed as to what your real plans for us are."

"Plans? I'm not sure what you mean?" asked Gandalf kindly.

Jean chuckled. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Anytime anyone asks how this is all going to end, you dodge, you placate, you distract. But is there ever an answer? No."

Gandalf cleared this throat authoritatively. "Well, Frodo will go to Mordor, and Sam with him. Boromir, most like with Rogue happily in tow, shall head for Minas Tirith. I thought that fairly obvious."

Jean groaned. "Tell us something we didn't know before we left Rivendell. What of the rest of us?"

"Who am I to tell you or anyone where to go. We took oaths to aid Frodo as far as each felt able. _You_ must decide for yourself how far it is wise to accompany the Ringer Bearer on his quest to reach the fires of Mount Doom."

"Sigh. And you're not the leader of our little company? Don't deny it! Everyone looks to you to make the important decisions. You aren't sending Frodo and Sam off by themselves, Middle Earth would gobble those two little hobbits right up. Who will go with them? You? Aragorn? Storm? Me?" Jean asked, her voice growing more and more agitated. "Who will aid Boromir? Surely we aren't all going to Gondor? What do we do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? That's crazy!"

"Strangely enough, it will all work itself out somehow, and for the better. It did so for Bilbo. It will for Frodo, I feel it."

"How?"

"I don't know. It's a mystery," replied Gandalf enigmatically

"Arrgggg!"

* * *

Rogue heard a soft snore come from the middle of the boat. She turned and saw Kitty's head leaning uncomfortably to the side, mouth slightly open. Satisfied her friend was napping, the teen gently pivoted her whole body so she knelt backward on her seat, faced toward the strong man guiding the boat.

"Boromir?"

"Yes?"

"Uhm, you know I'm going to go to Minas Tirith with you, don't you?" she asked, staring through the dark, trying to catch a glimpse of the man's eyes in the gloom.

"Of course, we've spoken of it often. Your choice heartens me greatly."

"And I'm trying to convince Storm and Jean to come with us too."

"With them at our side, the forces of Mordor could never cross the River," he said definitively. "We might even drive them back to Minas Morgul!"

"Yeah, uh, I've been thinking and if you want a shot at their help, you need to lay off Frodo."

Boromir's suddenly ebullient mood quickly dropped to grumpy. "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"Frodo has to go to Mordor, and you're freaking him out with all your talk about Minas Tirith. Jean and Storm are very protective of him. So your constant pestering is making them unhappy with you. Ergo …"

"Yes, yes, but if he came to Minas Tirith first, he could have a last place of rest before making his final effort. And when he comes to the White City, so do your friends," he announced with a sense of smug satisfaction.

"Uhm, ok, see …"

"In fact, after we kill hosts of orcs and other Sauron spawn with their help, perhaps even taking back all of Ithilien, then Frodo will have an easier time crossing into Mordor to destroy the Ring."

"Oh c'mon Boromir, Frodo's not stupid, I'm not stupid. We've heard the stories about the Ring and Isildur and why it's safer for a hobbit to lug the thing around than anybody else."

"Yes, stories," Boromir spat out.

"If Frodo made it to your Tower of Ecthelion, does he ever come out again?"

Boromir drew in a sharp breath at the accusation. "How dare you!" he snarled. "I pledged an oath to Frodo. I would not harm him. You go too far to suggest otherwise!"

"Do I?" Rogue snapped back angrily. "In Minas Tirith there's an army that's also pledged an oath … to _Gondor_. Are they going to let the Ring walk away?"

"They will not be told," scoffed Boromir.

"And Denethor? Will he not be told? Would your father let Frodo go? For Gondor, would he let the Ring walk away? Ever?"

Boromir took another deep breath, an angry retort on his lips. But his honor refused to let him spew out what it knew to be a lie. The caught air finally left his chest in a long, forceful sigh. In a quieter, sadder voice, he finally answered. "Turn back around woman, no more talk."

Rogue muttered, "jerk," then flipped back to the normal position on her seat. After which the boat quickly surged forward as Boromir took out his unfocused anger through fierce paddling. Kitty, laying in the bottom of the boat, wondered how long it would be prudent for her to keep pretending to be asleep.

* * *

Saruman stood atop the steps at the entrance to Orthanc as the magnificent specimen finally a lit on the grounds of Isengard after a leisurely half hour's examination of his works of war. Even his mightly Uruk-hai stayed well back, either from fear of the creature or of the no longer man who rode it. The wizard himself debated whether to be irked that his temporary ally kept watch of him or pleased at the opportunity to observe such an impressive animal.

"Hail Berumor, scryer of the sands. What assistance may I offer you?" the wizard of many colours called out in a loud voice, not bothering hide his sarcasm, once the Nazgul dismounted.

"The Dark Lord commands me to judge your readiness," came the icy, toneless response.

"My readiness?" sneered Saruman. "Sauron sends the least of his nine servants to judge a scion of Valar?"

A giant pressure suddenly prodded and weighed on the Nazgul's mind. His vision faded to gray as the force gripped him, pressed all around him. He threw his entire might at staving off the avalanche burying him, but he did not flinch. The Eye had tasked him, the Eye held his soul, if this glimmer of a Maia tore him asunder, his Lord would recreated him … probably. Berumor's vision returned and he saw a smiling Saruman standing next to him beneath the mighty neck of his winged mount. "War comes."

"Yes. Yes it does," replied a suddenly solicitous Saruman.

"Your army will march on the spring equinox."

"So I have already agreed with your Master."

"And I will check the number of your sword arms, and the strength of the steel forged in your workshops."

"Of course. Ilgrik! Show this Lordling all he would see above and below the grounds of Isengard, save the Tower. That is my abode alone." Saruman's deep eyes sparkled darkly as he spoke those last words.

The Nazgul gave the briefest of nods to show his acceptance of the wizard's parameters of his tour.

"I shall make sure your mount is well tended in your absence," and Saruman delighted in the touch as he ran a hand down the flank of the Fell Beast, till it came to rest on a mallorn arrow shaft sticking out of the saddle belt. "I see you came too close to Lothlorien."

"No. I spotted a few on the river, below the Limlight. They would not easily let me close them."

"Oh. Well they shall be crushed soon enough. Please, proceed, so you may report back to your Master all the sooner. You will undoubtedly find the White Hands of Saruman a formidable host."

Once the Dark Rider and his escort marched out of sight into the sinews of his war making machinery erected beneath the walls of Isengard, Saruman spun toward his nearest aide. "Ugluk, race for the redoubt on the Isen and take command of the newly arrived Hammers. March them night and day across the West Emnet, skirting close to the shade of Fangorn. Once over the Entwash and in the East Emnet break the Hand into its five fingers and head for the Anduin. The north most finger shall head to the junction with the Limlight and then turn south. The southernmost shall make to the Mouths of Entwash and go north."

"Why Lord? We may rouse the hooves of the Riddermark."

"Elves. Elves of Lorien have slipped out of their Golden Wood to spy or perhaps carry a message of import. Capture them, so I may unravel their plot. Kill only those that you must. Worry not about the Riddermark. I will ensure the Rohirrim pose no difficulty."

"Yes Lord."

"Go, before the servant of the Eye returns here."

The Uruk-hai bowed deeply, then trotted off like an obedient dog wanting to please its master.

'What mischief are you up to Galadriel?' pondered Saruman.

* * *

The boats had been pulled up the bank and left in a depression that made them invisible from the river or the far eastern bank. Sam had caught a couple of fish during the hours of darkness and Legolas shot a bird near the shoreline less than a minute after Aragorn indicated the upcoming end to the night's travel. As the usual minor bustle of setting up camp occurred, Gandalf agreed to the pleas for a fire to cook their catches. Frodo volunteered to collect driftwood for it. Though everyone was kindly, and there weren't many of them, the Fellowship was always there, assisting him with even the smallest of tasks. Sam was the worst, slowly killing Frodo's spirit with his unending sweetness. Being stuck in a small boat for nearly a week full of days and nights had turned him near claustrophobic. He needed some space and a chance to be alone.

The hobbit scrambled through some reeds and stubs of river grass to look for old, washed up branches. The moment he bent over to pick the first piece of wood up, the weight of the Ring tugged mightily at him.

(((_put on the Ring!_)))

As he patted the precious bundle beneath his tunic, he chuckled ironically at himself. 'With you, I'm never really alone, am I?' he thought to himself.

"Hullo Frodo," said Jean.

"Oh Jean, hi. I didn't see you. Out picking up wood too?"

"Sure," she replied. "Feeling blue are you?"

"Yeah. This is …" And he waved his hand vaguely toward the river and beyond. "all so much. I'm just a hobbit from the Shire."

Jean squatted down in front of Frodo and rested her hands on his shoulders. "A big thing's been asked of you. No wonder you feel overwhelmed at times," she said sympathetically.

He nodded his head.

"And you're being pressured."

(**[image of boromir looking stern and talking]**)

"Boromir's been hounding me something fierce to go to Gondor with him."

"And you're journey ahead so long and hard."

(**[image of frodo dragging an exhausted sam over a desolate moonscape overshadowed by giant, gnarled mountains]**)

Frodo shivered and nodded his head in agreement.

"And no one paying attention to your needs. Offering you the help you really want. Telling you what happens next."

(**[image of gandalf, aragorn, and legolas walking away from the river, leaving frodo and sam alone in a boat under foreboding skies]**)

"G-g-g-gandalf refuses to promise how far he'll go with me. He just says everything will turn out well."

"Sigh. Yeah, he tells me that too," Jean lamented.

"What am I to do?" Frodo asked plaintively through a sniffle.

(**[image of sun rising over a peaceful meadow, birds flying through blue skies]**)

"I'll go with you Frodo and keep you safe. All the way to the end."

(((_take the Ring!_)))

Frodo smiled. "Would you Jean? To the end?"

"Yes." She leaned forward and pulled Frodo into a hug, a warmth spreading across her chest where his tunic rubbed against her. "I'll keep _you_ safe," she whispered in his ear.

"And Storm too? Will she come with us?"

"Sure," replied Jean, releasing her hold on the hobbit and standing up. "Now go find some wood, or they'll think you lazy."

"Ok Jean," he answered cheerfully. "Thank you, thank you so much." And the Ring-bearer nearly skipped off, cheerfully resuming his search for more things the Anduin offered up on its shores to burned.

Jean watched Frodo for a minute or two, while she slowly spun the necklace from Lorien around her neck, the occasional jewel passing between her strong fingers. And then one hand gave a sharp jerk; a single jewel fell to the ground, promptly lost amongst the pebbles and muck of the shoreline. A confused look passed over Jean's face. She looked around, not really remembering coming there. 'Did Frodo call to me?' she wondered. The red head shrugged her shoulders and walked back to the camp, hungry.

* * *

The seventh night since the Fellowships departure from Lorien passed uneventfully. They paddled for long stretches and rested for short bits as the boats coasted with the leisurely current. With clouds obscuring most of the moonlight, they saw little in the darkness, but did take note that the banks of the river rose while an occasional silvery shaft revealed rocky hills. They were come to the start of the hill country of Emyn Muil.

As a pink tinge took to the clouds, Aragorn barked an order, and all four boats turned toward the western shore. The Ranger had spotted a cleft in the steep slopes choked with brambles, creepers, and ivy where a small stream had eroded through the crumbling grey rock of the bank to make a minor inlet. A single boat at a time could just squeeze through the gap to enter a hollow carved out of the bank by a thousand years of the stream's relentless trickle and periodic flash flood. No more than a foot's worth of water covered most of the hollow's floor which encompassed enough room to fit all four of their crafts. A minor cascade at the back of the hollow both brought the stream into it and provided a means of egress by the steps it had slowly cut into the rock over time.

Storm was the first to leap out of the boats and she instantly climbed the natural stair to scout the immediate countryside. Aragorn quickly followed. "Sure, leave me to guard the boat and guide the other's in, without even a by your leave," bellyached Gimli. By the time a much wetter dwarf had helped pull the last of their tiny armada through the crevice, the two scouts were returning.

"This stream wore out a ravine not fifty rangar back from here. Big enough to fit all of us," declared the Ranger.

"And its top is combed over by bushes and young birch. We should be well shaded from view," added Storm.

"Will we need to leave a guard with the boats?" asked Sam.

"No, they should be well enough hid. But once we've made camp, I'll come back and cut some brush to cover the entrance, just to be sure," answered the man the hobbit had first known as Strider.

With no more trouble than some wet feet, the hardened group of travelers hiked their gear back along the stream's course to the upcoming day's campsite. A cold breakfast eaten, each companion staked out a personal space while bartering happened for the order of the day's watch. As blankets began to unroll, Aragorn remembered the boats and left to attend them. Not long after, a solitary, loud splash made all heads jerk toward the river. After several seconds without further noise, Legolas chuckled softly. "It appears Aragorn has taken a tumble."

"Are you sure?" questioned Gandalf. Legolas nodded. "And he is unhurt?"

"Perhaps only his pride," replied the elf, causing the rest to chuckle.

"Children," chided the wizard. "If Aragorn can suffer a mishap, so may any of us. A lesson you would all be wise to consider. Now to rest."

Gimli, with wet boots and socks hanging from branches, took first watch, so he was the only one to blatantly smirk at the sodden Ranger's return. With boots making sucking sounds as he walked over to his pack, near the recumbent form of Jean, Aragorn shucked his drenched footwear, socks, pants, and shirt; then starting rummaging in his bag for a dry set of clothes.

"Aragorn," whispered Jean. The Dunedain turned, bare-chested, to peer down at the red head, her long crimson tresses framing her beautiful face; round bosoms swelling with every breath, a delicate hand resting on the golden chains nestling into her cleavage. His gaze quickly centered on her eyes; unfocused, yet somehow aglow with an inner ember, a magnificent intensity. "You're wet and cold. Come, share my blanket. Let my heat warm you," her voice throbbed seductively.

(_come to me_ (warmth)(empathy)(attraction))

Jean's eye's held his. He couldn't turn his vision away from those deep, fiery orbs. The longer he stared, the more he wanted to step toward her, so generous, so alluring. Both dread and excitement welled up in the pit of his stomach. He felt his resolve teeter. His hamstring and calf muscles started to move, slowly bending a knee and raising his heel from the earth. Aragorn saw a predatory grin swoop across her beguiling face for a split-second, then she shifted the necklace about her neck ever so slightly and a stray sunbeam dropping through the leafy canopy reflected off one of its jewels to spread prism like across his brow.

"No," he stated firmly. "I know my duty … the next watch to prepare for." He mustered a peremptory smile, "My blanket will suit me just fine."

Instantly, the force in Jean's eyes withered and disappeared. An embarrassed, confused smile teased at her face. "Well get some clothes on quick. You'll catch your death if you don't." She blinked thrice at the Ranger, then rolled over to place her back towards him.

* * *

Gimli silently waved a hand at Aragorn to pass on the Watch duty, carefully lay down his axe, and climbed into his bedding. The Dunedain had spent most of the past hour reliving again and again his strange encounter with his very attractive red haired companion. 'Was it merely odd coincidence? Was he truly attracted to her in some way? Or was there a mysterious magic at work?' He knew of her powers and suspected her mind's touch on him at the hill of Cerin Amroth, if not other times too. Of Jean's loneliness for her 'Scott', he knew of that trauma long ago, since their first day's talks on the march out of Bree. That she still suffered greatly, Legolas's tale of _his_ experience with _her_ on Cerin Amroth only confirmed what he suspected. 'Just how far might Jean use her powers, even on friends, if spurned once too often? Should these concerns be shared with Gandalf?'

As these questions and other thoughts churned through his mind, a dense fog crept up the stream course from the Anduin, slipping between shrub and stalk. A soft cry and then the movement of green came from within the fog. An elven cloak made in Rivendell style lay flatteringly over a slender, feminine form. The hood was drawn up tight, leaving a pool of darkness to hide the face. But by her very movement he needed no other sign to recognize her.

"Arwen," he whispered with husky emotion.

The elf nodded her head and stepped out of the stream bed toward him, saying with an emotion filled voice, "Elessar, _nin mel_, my love."

"Why are you here? You should not have left the safety of your father's home. This quest is full of danger."

"This quest is folly. I will save you. Come with me." Her gloved hands shot out and gripped his fiercely.

"I cannot go you," Aragorn said troubled. "I gave an oath, _nin beth_. What of Frodo? Shall he go to his doom? Would you let the Enemy attain the Ring?"

"No. Bring the Ring with us. We shall be the new Earendil and Elwing and go with it to Valinor and live forever together in the Blessed Realm. Our love shall be our shield from the coming tragedy."

"And our promise to your father means nothing to you?"

"Only our love has meaning. Do you not love me?

"Of course I do. You wound me by even asking."

"Then prove it and I will leave you to your fate. Kiss me."

Aragorn let go of her hands and leaned forward through the fog and mist swirling around her. He reached up gathering the folds of her hood, pulling it back to uncover the darkness hiding Arwen's face. Crimson tresses tumbled from out of the dim veil, the blackness shrinking away from his love's face, revealing delicate, pointed ears and arched scarlet colored eyebrows. Two almost cat-like orbs, reflecting passion and flame now stared back at him, drawing him in closer and closer. His hands dropped along her sides to the small of her back and pulled her closer as he parted his lips, ready to tenderly kiss with all his love and yearning the image of an elfish Jean.

A flash of brilliant green blinded him. Jean's elven face began to fade. Aragorn saw her lips form to make words, then he thought he heard a distant cry of 'Nooooooooooo!' The beautiful face disappeared to nothing as the rest of her cloaked body started to fade also. The fog and mist rolled back out of the ravine as fast as thought.

Aragorn blinked his eyes as he sat atop his blanket. Sun shone sporadically through the branches and brush above him. The green haze lighting the gully dimmed, pulling back, retreating toward him, into him. The Ranger looked down at his chest upon which lay the silver brooch of Arwen, given him by the Lady Galadriel on the leave taking of Lorien. The emerald stone set in the middle of the brooch gave one last glimmer of brilliant green light, then turned lifeless.

Rage surged through every sinew of Aragorn. Waking dream or not, only one person could have placed such a vision within him, his head jerked toward the intruder, the violator laying not ten feet from him. Spotting his prey, supine on the earth, he propelled himself into a tuck and roll right at her, his hand plucking a dagger from its sheath inside a boot as he spun forward to the edge of her bedding. His free hand tore back her blanket, and there Jean lay, exposed, breathing the slow steady beat of sleep, lids closed, eyeballs occasionally darting to and fro beneath the lids, a soft snore emitting from a small gap in her lips. The blade hovered over the red head's almost bare neck. Even in sleep one of her hands occasionally twitched on the necklace gift from Lorien.

Doubt seized the Ranger, for surely the woman slumbered deeply. She had not so much as twitched at his almost deadly assault. 'Is she to blame? And if she is, does she even know it?' he wondered. He pulled the blade back and lowered the blanket back over the woman's shoulder. Silently he stood, casting one last glance down at her angelic face. He turned and walked over to the lumpy gray form of Gandalf.

* * *

"Enough about this _boyscout_, as you referred to him earlier," said Gandalf.

Jean snickered. "Well _you_ asked. It's not like I haven't talked about him … oh … a hundred times already to you."

"Yes, yes, but never in a dedicated fashion. Curiosity struck my fancy that maybe you'd yet to relay every tawdry detail of your romantic past. Was there ever another besides Scott who caught your eye?"

Jean laughed nervously, "Who could you possibly mean?"

"I notice a slight tension in your voice when you talk of _him_."

"Him who?" she asked nervously, one hand coming off her paddle to tug lightly at her necklace.

The wizard made no comment at his companion's sudden lack of assistance in propelling the boat, but he did continue speaking, "The Wolverine, as all of you most often call him."

Jean gave a hoot of relief. "Logan? Ahhh, nooooo. Definitely not him."

"Is he so unattractive?"

"Of course not. He's … a hunk," replied Jean, bobbing her head slightly as she remembered the first time she saw him, shirtless, hairy, and muscular; _very defined_. "And passionate, surprisingly kind, oddly charming, extremely loyal in his own way. He …"

"Sounds positively dreadful," mocked the wizard.

"Yeah, well, he's also wild, undisciplined, probably crazy, infuriating, completely carefree, stubborn, and a loner. Not the person you bring home to meet your parents."

"Or throw over a steady, reliable boyfriend to have an affair with."

"Damn straight!" Jean said heatedly.

"So you are attracted to him," Gandalf smirked.

"No!"

Gandalf laughed. "Examine yourself Jean, you're all aflutter. The man clearly strikes a nerve in you. Is it because you envy those parts of his character you feel unable to emulate."

"That isn't fair," Jean pouted.

"You've lived in the cocoon of your Professor's school since you first became a woman, the perfect daughter if you will. Is it any wonder part of you yearns for the freedom this Wolverine represents?"

"I don't want to be free," Jean retorted, reflexively denying Gandalf's implications.

"Tut-tut, we all do Jean. This desire marks us as different from the minions of Mordor. But it also unfortunately offers us a trap too, for without utilizing our freedom responsibly, with love in our hearts, our souls may stray into darkness. Mark my words little bird, the trap is subtle, it can seduce one to take horrible actions, believing they are done for a greater good."

(_you would make a goddamn good shrink._)

(_shrink? i will take that as a compliment, whatever it means._)

Smiling, Gandalf hummed a few notes then started to softly sing in a deep voice, "_The Road goes ever on and on, out from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can. Pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way where many paths and errands meet._"

The rough baritone dampened the flame of Jean's emotions, the simple harmony bathing her in a calm, reassuring glow. Slowly her hand dropped from her neck back to the paddle. Soon she dipped it back into the water, happy to keep the craft moving forward.


End file.
